


Why Don't We Do It In The Road?

by fairlightscales



Series: 33 and 1/3 [5]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Hippies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Flower Children - Freeform, Friends to Lovers, Hippies, Ross and Dem, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, flower child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2020-10-27 00:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20751032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairlightscales/pseuds/fairlightscales
Summary: June 1968Quidquid Amor Jussit Non Est Contemnere Tutum





	1. Why Don't We Do It In The Road

**Author's Note:**

> "Little Wing" will remain under the "developing friendship" tag. Resurgam/Dem growing up stories will stay there and stop short of Ross and Demelza's romance, so this has been lopped off the end. Now its own story in chapters.

"What be wrong wit 'em?!" Jud despaired to Prudie in the kitchen.  
A strange mood had fallen over Nampara. Ross and Dem were moody, snappish, surly and quiet by turns. Prudie set a cup of tea in front of him. He took a sip as she sat down with her own. She began sugaring her tea.  
"They got spring nippin' at 'em too hard." she answered, sagely. Jud sputtered a bit as he swallowed.  
"Eh?!" His eyebrows went up. Prudie stirred her tea with her spoon.  
"Don't look so shocked. She be old enough. She be old enough and they both d' know it!"  
"T'ain't right!" Jud was surprised by Prudie's attitude. Prudie stopped sipping her tea.  
"It d' make the world go round." She snickered. " What you creenin' on anyway? You had at it wi' me and I not but fifteen!" Jud sat back in his chair and gave a wicked laugh.  
"Heh, heh, you was a mature fifteen..." They exchanged a look. Prudie resumed drinking her tea.  
"Mark my words, there'll be no peace 'til they do," she set her cup in her saucer and gave Jud a straightforward look.  
"They be spoilin' for it."

I. Let It be True

It was late. Ross was playing his guitar in the parlor. He was sleepless and agitated. His practice was giving him no satisfaction tonight...movement in the room. "Dem?" Ross looked at her as she entered and then averted his eyes to look at his guitar. The shadow of her nipples could be seen through her tee shirt, her legs bare and long underneath her skirt.  
"I couldn't sleep." She said.  
"Do you want to play?" Things were becoming strange between them. He'd asked her that hundreds of times, why did it ring so suggestive to him now? She crossed the room to retrieve the maple Gibson. She sat across from him at the other pew. The swell of her hips as she sat, her waist no longer angular.  
"The moon's full..." she said, absently. Is that why she felt so restless and strange?  
"Perhaps some fresh air would be a good thing." Ross said. They did not bother with their shoes. They left the parlor and walked through the house to the front door. The moon was huge and cast a bright light over everything. They settled on the benches outside, facing each other as they usually did but somehow shy about it tonight. Two guitarists who took pride in their ability to play without looking at their hands sat, primly, looking at their fingering. They were playing a Spanish piece they had been working on. Demelza looked up at Ross and wondered, was he shy for the same reason she was? She resumed looking at her fingering and had a think. She would dare, she thought. She started playing the opening to The Beatles, 'Something' and looked up. They were looking at each other now. Ross smiled, 'You little...' he thought. "You take the high end." he said.  
They began again, dovetailing their playing to compliment the other. Demelza took pains to play her best without looking like she was trying to show off. She wanted Ross to see that she had learned her techniques at his feet and had mastered them. Ross and Demelza looked at each other as they played. Ross felt strangely calm. That Dem chose the most romantic Beatles song was not lost on him. It gave him hope. He felt the tension between them and knew full well what had been eating at them recently. He resisted his feelings, having been her guardian for so long. But Demelza had given him an opening to pursue and a window to her feelings. He had no hesitation singing George Harrison's lyrics. Ross meant them. He looked into Demelza's eyes as he sang. 

'Something in the way she moves  
Attracts me like no other lover  
Something in the way she woos me'

Ross' smile grew wider, wasn't he being wooed?

'I don't want to leave her now  
You know I believe and how'

They placed the cascade of notes that proceeded the next lyrics. Demelza felt over warm suddenly. She slid her fingernail on the string, like a bottle slide, as she played to accompany his ascending notes. Ross' eyebrow raised, he was impressed. She blushed.

'Somewhere in her smile she knows'

Demelza averted her eyes.

'That I don't need no other lover'

Ross plucked a clear note, like a bell, that startled her to look up again. He jutted his chin a little, his smile and eyes lit with mischief. She did not look away.

'Something in her style that shows me  
I don't want to leave her now  
You know I believe and how'

The ascending notes returned. Demelza took up the next part, singing in a clear voice to the moon, to the stars, to Ross, his eyes lit with a dark fire.

'You're asking me will my love grow  
I don't know, I don't know  
You stick around, now it may show  
I don't know, I don't know'

They played the stately, elegant break together and Ross looked at his West Country girl, this woman in front of him, this woman he had come to love.  
"Play D, Dem." he said. Ross changed his fingers to hold a different set of notes and like a magic trick, on his six string, with the help of Demelza's D chord, the opening chord of A Hard Day's Night rang out. They paused. Demelza's eyes widened with surprise and softened. The night became silent around them. The stars seemed to brighten around them. It was as if Ross had given her a bouquet of red roses. He had teased her with that Beatles chord, but he had honored her too. He smiled with pride. He was proud of her. Dem was a guitarist in her own right, having come so far from her beginnings. And, in the same way it took both of their effort to perform that chord, they needed each other. Facing each other, holding their guitars, their looks of admiration had subtly changed to that of open longing. Ross could admit to himself that he wanted her and Demelza craved his touch. Ross cleared his throat, blinked himself out of his reverie and nodded to her. They would continue. they resumed playing. Ross sang,

'Something in the way she knows  
And all I have to do is think of her...'

Demelza took off her guitar and set it on the bench. Ross stopped singing though he kept playing. She crossed the small distance between them and bent forward, over his guitar as his fingers froze in place on the strings. She gently pressed her lips to his. She looked down at him. He looked up at her. Slowly, he pulled the guitar strap over his head and set his guitar to the side. Demelza smiled as she started to step backwards.  
"You can't catch me..." she teased.  
Ross smiled as he stood. The grass felt warm under foot, how would it feel as their bed...? They exchanged very knowing smiles as she walked backwards and he advanced. She turned and skipped a little before looking over her shoulder, briefly, and then ran towards the Long Field. He laughed and a shiver went down Demelza's spine. Ross' laugh seemed to say "Oh, I'll get you all right..."  
They bound across the field and he caught her up and started kissing her neck. She turned and he kissed her face, her lips. He nudged her mouth open with his tongue and she sighed into his mouth as they kissed passionately, their hands strayed all over each other. Ross pulled off her tee shirt and looked at her breasts in the moonlight. She was a woman. Dem pulled at Ross' shirt and he helped her by pulling it over his head. He was a man. They pulled themselves out of their clothes. With the moon's glow upon them, they stood facing each other. Naked and needing each other.  
"Demelza."  
"Ross."  
They dropped to their knees and he lay her down in the grass.

In the tall grass of the Long Field, laying in a nest of their own clothes, drawing their fingers over each other's bodies, threading them through each other's hair, Ross rolled atop Demelza and began loving her again as the sun blessed them the way the moon had done. They would marry. Ross and Demelza would wed, but it was just a formality. They were true wed in the grass of Nampara. The moon, the stars and the sun were their witness, their choir and their priest.

II. Whatsoever love hath ordained it is not fit to despise

At Nampara, a door slammed. Giggling could be heard. Demelza burst into the parlor holding a guitar and clutching a hand full of cornflowers. She gasped and went rigid as Ross caught her about the waist and pressed his lips to her neck before he froze as he looked up. Seated on the pew by the hearth, facing them with her mouth agape and her eyes wide with shock was Elizabeth. Demelza dropped her flowers. Elizabeth's eyes were drawn to them as they scattered across the patterned rug at Demelza's feet.  
Elizabeth and Ross were a couple in a different place and time. Ross had kissed her and, occasionally, squeezed her in interesting places but they were gentry for all their Mod leanings. One did not soil the merchandise before it was bought. Elizabeth had assumed they would marry and she would know Ross' ardor in time. Ross would not have dragged her into the grass and carried on with her as he had clearly done with his little groupie. Elizabeth had ignored all the gossip around this girl over the years but the truth of it now was plain to see. Their feet were bare and filthy, hastily dressed, clover and grass on their clothes, in their hair, Ross had a flower stuck in his hair, for pity's sake... Ross stood up straight and pulled the maple Gibson from Dem's hand. He gave her a smile before crossing the room to set both guitars back on their stands. Demelza watched Elizabeth's eyes widen. She had seen the smudges of soil on Ross' elbows and forearms as he set the guitars down. Her eyes suddenly flicked toward her and she bore Elizabeth's withering gaze.  
Elizabeth looked at the girl, ginger hair in all directions, spindly legs, the shadow of her nipples through her shirt -no brassiere!- a little street girl, that's what people had said. Ross sent her to Hempel, of all places! Ross turned to face Elizabeth, who had unwittingly thrown cold water over something very beautiful. He thought of how different she and Demelza were. Elizabeth so cool and elegant. Demelza so warm and wild. Both women, but one of porcelain, fragile and translucent. One put put milk first so the cup would not crack from the heat of the tea. One of earthenware. Generous and sturdy. A Cornish cup full of promise and with a warmth one could feel as it was held in hand. These two women who held his regard...  
"Elizabeth." Ross was not expecting a visit and certainly not Elizabeth who rarely came to Nampara. What was she doing here?  
Elizabeth, who dared to see if Ross still fancied her, bored in her marriage and curious to see if there were still embers here, got more than she'd bargained for.  
"Hello, Ross. I thought I would stop by but I see I've come at a bad time." Ross bore her stern disapproval. She could not have believed all the gossip around him and Demelza but, clearly, she had seen enough today to change her mind. The fact that it had not been true until last night would hold no sway. They had been each others for a little under six hours and now a worm had crept in. The tittle tattle that made what had been lovely a little tarnished now. Elizabeth stood and started to pluck bits of grass out of Ross' hair. He closed his eyes as if he were being reprimanded and when he opened them they exchanged a look Demelza could not decipher. Demelza winced inwardly. Elizabeth felt free enough to do that, to have claim over him still and that Ross would stand so cowed by her. Demelza bit her bottom lip, willing herself not to cry. Elizabeth was a lady and she was a slag. She shrugged off that insult many times over the years but it was only now she had cause to feel it might be true. Ross felt Elizabeth's scorn of him. Her eyes were cold towards him. Elizabeth made a move to pluck away the cornflower Dem had tucked behind Ross' ear and he grabbed her wrist. He did not speak. The slight tilt of his head. Having accepted her censure up to this point, he made it clear she had now overstepped. A look of warning in his eyes. A look of derision in Elizabeth's. "It's wilting already." said Elizabeth, "Cornflowers are like that." He released her and she stepped away. She glanced briefly at Demelza again and the flowers at her feet...her soiled knees...'She'll last about as long as those flowers...' thought Elizabeth. Demelza looked to Ross, all wide eyed and pathetically grateful that he protected her daffy, little, half dead, cornflower...'It's too late,' thought Elizabeth, 'Too late for me to come here...'  
"I'll take my leave." she said. Elizabeth crossed the parlor with one last glance at Demelza, who had the grace to look as ashamed as she ought to. As she crossed through the doorway, Elizabeth pronounced her judgement upon them,  
"You would do well to have a wash," she sniffed, "You two look like a pair of homeless buskers."  
Demelza bowed her head, and looked sorrowful. The playful happiness they'd had, evaporated. Ross was incensed. He crossed the room to stand by her side. He leaned his head close to her, he put his arm around her. "No, Dem. Don't listen to her. Elizabeth is wrong." He nestled his face close to hers. He smelled grass and her skin and even himself on her as they'd kissed and caressed so much. She looked at Ross, wide eyed and so in love with him. She wanted to hold the magic of their night and forget Elizabeth's visit. Ross kissed her gently. "We should have a bath though..." There was mischief in his voice and she giggled. He was glad of it. He took her by the hand and they left the parlor. They turned into the hall only to be met by Jud. Jud who had known both of them from childhood. This was as close to being found out by a parent as could be for both Ross and Dem and they smiled sheepishly as he looked them up and down.  
"Lord above, the goings on!" He called out "Prudie!!" Ross hid his face on Demelza's shoulder, in her hair. "Oh god..." Ross complained. They were not going to get away with a thing. Demelza laughed and meekly waited for Jud and Prudie to have their say. Ross felt a bit rebellious as he heard Prudie's footfall. He lifted his head and stood behind Dem, wrapping his arms around her as if she was a possession he would not share. He gave a sidelong glance to her, cheek to cheek.  
"This is tyranny, Dem!" He narrowed his eyes, in mock annoyance, at Jud. "Why can't a man have it off with his woman in his own home without everyone else putting in their two pence about it?!" Demelza laughed and turned in his arms to hug him. He had called her 'his woman'. Prudie came in as Jud countered,  
"If 'n ee had yer woman in yer house instead of rolling around in the grass like them bloody hippies on the telly!"  
At that Prudie put her hands on her hips and gave a full throated laugh ending in a wicked cackle. By frolicking in the meadow with a vengeance, Ross and Demelza had exceeded her expectations.  
"What I d'say Jud Paynter! Spring got at 'em sure as eggs is eggs!" Ross kissed Demelza's cheek and rested his chin on her shoulder. Demelza ducked her chin and smiled. They both blushed a little. He had his arms around her and they looked very sweet. The Paynters looked at them fondly. Jud shook off his sentimentality, as if it wouldn't do to be seen as soppy. "Pah!" He gestured at them with his hand "What would Mistress Grace make of them two do you reckon?" Dem felt Ross go still. She turned in his arms to see him looking at Prudie the way an anxious little boy might. Ross was invested in the answer. Prudie grew serious, lifted her chin, looked at them this way and that. Then she smiled.  
"I reckon she'd say, 'He met his match.'" Ross closed his eyes and snuggled around Demelza tighter. Prudie had made him happy. Jud and Prudie tut tutted in a teasing way as they retreated to other parts of the house. Ross gave Demelza another kiss on the neck. "Shall we go upstairs?" Something in his voice promised a bit more than a bath. She retrieved the cornflower in his hair so it could be pressed between the pages of a book and smiled mischievously as she answered,  
"Ais."


	2. Sea of Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> True wed

I. Going To The Chapel

Ross sat on the floor of the parlor, leaning his head back on the seat of one of the older benches by the windows. Demelza sat on his lap with her head nestled close to his neck. They had tasted every inch of each other and found it good. They had slept in Ross' bed, night after night, since their first night in the Long Field and found that good. Ross asked Dem to marry him, and she said yes, which they both found very good indeed. Much like the day four years ago, when they had come upon Ross after he'd kicked heroin, Ned and Dwight entered the parlor. Ross sat, in his boots and his jeans and his half buttoned shirt but, this time, they were brought up short by seeing Dem in his arms. Ned crowed, "Pay up, Enys!" Ross' mouth fell open as Dwight rummaged in his pocket and produced two pound notes that he handed to Ned while rolling his eyes. Ned laughed merrily. Ross looked at them in disbelief. "You had a bet going?" Dem started giggling and hid her face behind her hair. "Yep! And I won!" said Ned, waving the money over his head. Ross looked at Dwight, still shocked. "You thought we wouldn't?" Dwight smiled, "I thought you wouldn't before Christmas!" he gave them a wry smile. They all laughed. Dem turned to look at Ned and Dwight with a blush on each cheek as they smiled fondly on them both. "It's only right..." said Ned as he sat by the hearth, "...I don't think Ross would have approved of any other lad gettin' at her!" Dwight and Ned bent double laughing. Ross ducked his head and smiled. He deserved that. They weren't wrong. Ross recovered his equilibrium. "Miss Carne has agreed to let me make an honest woman of her." Demelza and Ross smiled at each other while Ned and Dwight clapped applause. "Congratulations!" said Dwight. "Aw, Dem, Mrs. Poldark! Good on ya both!" Ned smiled. So it was, after the prescribed period of 28 days notification, with an application on which they dared to forge Tom Carne's signature, a sextet of happy people walked toward Caxton Hall, in London, to see Ross and Dem made spouses in the eyes of the law. Caxton was a register office that had been the site where union rallies were held, the place where Winston Churchill held press conferences during World War II, the meeting place for suffragettes, from 1907 onward as they met and marched from that site to try to deliver a petition to the Prime Minister-always rebuffed. In 1910, Aleister Crowley staged six weeks of a performance called 'The Rites of Eleusis', but Caxton's rites these days were known for the weddings of many famous actresses and performers. Ross and Demelza were not, at this point, what anyone would consider famous, though Resurgam had a bit of success. Ross chose it simply because he had heard of it and he didn't relish marrying in Cornwall where they'd have to withstand a hailstorm of gossip in any event. No point in having their wedding at the center of the maelstrom. There would be time enough for all that after the fact. They would marry and celebrate without small minded talk about them, thought Ross. They approached the venue along with many of the other small groups of couples and their well wishers. Admittedly, the Poldark party was, perhaps, more eye catching than the others. Ross wore a dark blue suit but his dark hair had grown to a length that could not be considered respectable in more conservative circles. Dwight and Ned were also formally attired but had the faint suggestion of the rock musician in their mien as well. Verity, who had requested the help of her co worker, Andrew Blamey, an avid photographer, to take pictures for the couple, walked on Andrew's arm in a Foale and Tuffin paisley dress, long and in dark purple tones that brought out the prettiness of her eyes and the dark gloss of her hair in a somewhat Edwardian looking updo and dark green court shoes. Blamey's suit was dark green as well with his black leather camera case around his neck and carrying a collapsible tripod that looked a bit like a folded umbrella. They looked quite smart together. Then there was the bride. Demelza wore a long, ivory lace gown from a London boutique called Biba. It had a tall portrait collar, like a column around her neck with a long zipper down the back that was sewn in such a way that the teeth of it could not be seen. It had short, fluttery lace sleeves and skimmed down her body to the hem at her feet, at once tightly fitted, but a relaxed, fuller skirt cascading down. She had borrowed a handkerchief from Verity that was embroidered with bluebells, so that served as her 'something borrowed and blue' together. Her tights were her 'something old'. White tights that bore a smudge of dirt from Garrick's affection, obscured by the length of the dress, and her ivory court shoes were 'something new'. She held a small bunch of white roses. Dem had no veil but a rose was tucked in her hair with a bit of greenery around it. A fern frond and a glossy, dark rose leaf. Ross, Dwight, Ned and Andrew-not to be left out-had a white rose as a boutonniere. With Caxton Hall having such a reputation for hosting weddings of renown among the celebrity set, it was not unusual for freelance photographers to keep an eye on the place, in case there was a scoop to be had. As it happened, on this fair and pretty July day, with enough breeze to be pleasant rather than hot, a couple of photographers were present and intrigued by the small knot of posh looking hippies and took some snaps-just to be on the safe side. While they were inside, a quick call around had informed them that the groom was an EMI signed rock musician and his band's record was a modest success. They would wait to try and get better pictures as they left. They waited their turn inside with the other small groups, all with the same happy look of hope and excitement on their faces. Demelza and Verity sat on a bench as the men stood around them. They found it hard to make small talk. The expectation and waiting made them all quietly pleased. Ross and Dem were very smitten looking and the tension in their faces was borne of anticipation rather than fear. Verity smiled upon them. Initially surprised when Ross told her that they would marry, she was glad for them. Ross had been a difficult, lost soul when he returned from America and meeting Demelza had freed him to start changing for the better. He'd pulled himself out of the destructive path he seemed bent on following after her brother, Francis, married Elizabeth. Dem had given him hope and it was clear they loved each other. The marriage was no makeshift. Ross was taken with his young friend in a way that made Verity pleased. Demelza was lovely and they knew each other well. Many marriages had been built on less.

"Ross Poldark?"  
They turned to the voice that had called out. A clerk beckoned Ross over to him. Ross gave Demelza's hand a little squeeze and he walked with the clerk to an alcove in a different hall, still in sight but not within earshot. Their heads bent together. The clerk spoke to Ross in hushed tones. They could see a smile spread on Ross' face even though there was a look of annoyance in his eyes. Ross gently pressed his fingers on the man's shoulder as he whispered an answer. They watched in befuddlement as all the blood drained out of the clerk's face. They stepped apart and the clerk nodded 'yes' before scurrying away, back into the office he'd come from. Ross returned, amused by the five confused expressions that greeted him.  
"Is it our turn?" asked Demelza. Ross smiled.  
"Not yet, but it will be soon."

They exited Caxton Hall as Mr. and Mrs. Ross Vennor Poldark, as officially witnessed by Edward Despard and Verity Poldark with Dwight Enys and Andrew Blamey in attendance. Having chosen a nice portion of the building to pose against, Andrew set about photographing the newly minted married couple, first by themselves and then with their guests. In a move that could be seen as flirtatious, Andrew, plying Verity with compliments over her dress, insisted that there be a picture of just her, once he'd taken pictures of her standing with Demelza as a pair. Unbeknownst to them all, three freelance photographers surreptitiously marked the occasion as well. Having been tipped off by the other two, a fellow who often worked with New Music Express came along as well to get a snap.  
They had a sumptuous lunch in a restaurant and then went back to the flat where Dwight and Ned each provided a bottle of champagne, Andrew gave Ross a good bottle of brandy, with his compliments and Verity provided a small, two tier cake from a bakery-all white roses and swooping buntings of frosting with two guitar picks stuck in the top next to a small pair of plastic doves in a frilly little bower. There was a toast and cake as they played rock music at a discreet volume on a player in the lounge. Verity and Demelza brought their champagne into the garden as the gentlemen sat enjoying Andrew's gifted brandy in the lounge.  
"Oh, Verity...!" Dem leaned her head back in the garden chair, her heart too full to say anything more. Verity smiled.  
"I hope you will be very happy together!"  
They clinked their glasses. Dem smiled conspiratorially, "Andrew seems very nice!" Verity blushed a little and it made Dem happy to see it. "Yes, Andrew is very nice." agreed Verity. They clinked their champagne glasses again. Let us there be happiness and good luck for us all, thought Demelza.  
On the way back from the loo, Ned saw Verity and Dem chatting and having a toast of their own through the glass doors of the kitchen. He rejoined the others. "Verity looks a picture today..." hoping to get and receiving a bashful smile from Andrew. Ross' eyebrow raised. His lips twitched a smile as he nodded to Blamey and raised his brandy glass in his direction. Dwight, who had not caught the flavor of Ned's remark was more interested in Caxton.  
"What did that clerk say to you earlier, Ross?"  
"Yes!" said Andrew, "What was that about?"  
Having smiled long enough to gather their attention, Ross said,  
"Some very helpful, anonymous person called to say that our application was forged."  
"What?!" Dwight said. Ned and Andrew's mouths fell open. Dwight recovered himself.  
"You told him it wasn't?"  
"No!" Ross said, "I wasn't going to lie! What if they looked in to it more?" Ned was agog.  
"You mean to say it WAS forged?!" Ross gave a bark of a laugh.  
"Of course it was! Do you think I'd waste my breath asking Tom Carne's permission to marry Dem?!"  
"What did you say?' asked Andrew.  
"I simply told him that, if he didn't marry us today, I would punch his fucking face in." said Ross taking a dignified sip of his brandy. They fell about laughing. Ned wiped his eyes, he laughed that hard, crowing,  
"G'on, my son!"  
They clinked their glasses. Verity and Demelza could hear them as far as the garden.  
"To Ross and Dem!"  
The girls looked at each other. The party was breaking up. "I think we should rejoin the others." said Verity. Demelza nodded, but felt a little strange. She and Ross had slept together a hearty amount but this was the place were they first met and in some ways held more importance as the site of their first night as proper man and wife.  
The guests departed, with knowing looks and warm hugs. Ned and Dwight hugged and congratulated their Dem. Andrew gave her a kiss on the cheek and stepped back so Verity could say her goodbye. He would escort her leave. They agreed to have a meal together tonight. Dem suddenly clung to Verity as if she would not let go. Struck by the emotion of having entered this house as a little waif with Garrick in her arms. It seemed like a million years ago and just yesterday simultaneously. Dem was now a Poldark and the two people who meant the most to her were now her family. Verity rested her chin on Dem's shoulder and whispered "You are loved, Demelza." Verity kissed her forehead and gave her one last squeeze of a hug. She held Dem's hands and smiled as they stood apart.  
"Congratulations, my dear." she said.

II. Knights In White Satin

"Mrs. Poldark..." Ross was in his shirtsleeves and pants. The vest and jacket had been dispensed with when they got back home, hours ago, and now the tie had gone. They were alone. Dem had removed her shoes and tights and was wafting about the lounge with a glass of champagne, dreamy and happy and awaiting Ross who's footfall she heard on the steps. She realized with a start that she had never been in Ross' room in this house and her heart seemed to skip a beat at that fact. She offered him her glass of champagne and he sipped at it while looking into her eyes. He smiled.  
"Come upstairs, Dem."

She took his hand. He lead her up the stairs. She pushed open the door as the scent of candle wax curled around it. A no nonsense bedroom. Spartan. A desk with less clutter on it than the one in the library at Nampara. A clothes closet with a myriad of suits and shoes in one corner, so unlike his uniform of jeans and a shirt as she had come to know him. The remnants of his Mod past...  
On the floor by the window and on the desk were lit candles that made a mystical confused replica of their shadows on the ceiling. Strewn across the bed was a handful of somewhat dried Nampara cornflowers. "Oh, Ross..." her heart melted at the sight. She felt Ross' breath on her neck and smoothed her hair to one side to leave her neck clear. He gently pulled the zipper of the dress down, and down, and down her back. The two sides of the dress parted like angel's wings and he felt his heart skip a beat as he pushed the gown down off of her arms and down her hips and legs to the floor. She gathered up the dress and laid it over the chair of the desk. She had a cheeky flash of a thought that the stuffed wing chair in the corner of the room should remain free to utilize for a different purpose later... She stood in her underclothes and began to unbutton Ross' shirt. They had a rapturous, joyful look mirrored in each others eyes. Mr. and Mrs. She pushed the shirt off his arms and it fell away. Unable to resist, Ross kissed her and they remained that way for some minutes, and why not? They had all the time in the world...

The morning light slanted across the room through the curtains of the window. Ross lay on his side, watching Dem sleep. She lay on her back, lips slightly apart, her palm facing up with her fingers curled, reminiscent of a seashell by the bright mane of her hair. She woke suddenly, eyes open suddenly, towards the ceiling and then to Ross. He was struck by her gaze. A heavy lidded, direct gaze. She brought her right arm around to let her fingers play about his hair as she stared at him with the look of a hawk or a falcon. He had claimed her at Nampara and she would claim him in London. She curled her arm around his head and drew him in for a kiss. Ross wondered, as she lay him on his back, sheets twisted about her waist, her body rising above him like the masthead of a ghost ship, 'Is it possible to die of pleasure?' Could he lose himself in the sparkle of her eyes until there was no way to return? Was it possible to drown in a sea of red hair? He cried out as she settled herself upon him, he felt the bed cradle his body as she made love to him with a secret smile that made him weak with lust. She claimed her husband, as the bed creaked a steady rhythm and they breathed songs of desire. She raised her head, eyes closed, screaming her pleasure as he grasped her hips and thrust to meet her, both finding the end of their race and lay spent. Ross lay on his back, panting, holding Demelza to him as they dozed once more. Thank god, thought Ross, thank god one could die of pleasure and then be reborn so you could do it all over again...  
Having entertained themselves past what would be considered the breakfast hour, they had cake for lunch, or perhaps early supper. They lay quiet afterwards in Ross' tub-not the third floor tub where, years ago a heroin addict deloused a sleepy headed runaway, like a distant dream...  
Demelza lay nestled between Ross' legs in the hot water and they found it agreeable to simply rest there. If there was lust, there was also companionship. There was also the knowledge that the other was a friend. They linked the fingers of their left hands under the water. True wed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sea Of Joy, Blind Faith 1969  
Going To The Chapel, The Dixie Cups 1964  
Knights In White Satin, The Moody Blues 1967
> 
> When 19 year old actress, Diana Dors, married Dennis Hamilton at Caxton Hall, she forged BOTH her parents names on the form. Hamilton had informed the press of the event so there were press and photographers as well as fans outside. While they were waving and posing, the registrar tapped Hamilton on the shoulder and asked to speak with him. The official told him that they had received an anonymous phone call that the application was forged. Hamilton grabbed the official by the throat and said:
> 
> "You'll marry us all right, or I'll knock your fucking teeth down your throat."
> 
> Upon consideration, the registrar decided to ignore the telephone call and officiated the ceremony.


	3. What's New Pussycat?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talk of the town

The quiet sunlight of a July Sunday morning filled the winter parlor at Trenwith. Elizabeth played the harp, working on a sonata by Krumpholz and trying to decide which parts of the piece could be suitable points to look up. Elizabeth was often aware of a sense of performance in her behavior, trained from the cradle towards deliberate performance to secure the notice of men and the admiration or envy of women, depending on how they were disposed to see her. At a certain point, a serene blink of her eyes would be quite fetching but she had to time it to her fingering, just so. In some ways, Elizabeth's harp practice was more for this purpose than mastery of the instrument. They had their breakfast, the remains of which were being discreetly removed by servants. Charles and Francis had what was the one of the few moments of camaraderie in the week where he and his father would pursue the London Times and tut tut over the state of world affairs. The elderly Aunt Agatha sat near the window consulting her tarot cards with a fine woven shawl around her, patterned in warm, red tones and making her black dress look rather more severe. Elizabeth's mother was with them today, having joined the group for dinner and stayed over so they were all assembled when Charles suddenly said:

"Stap me! He's done it now!" Francis looked up from his part of the newspaper.  
"Who's done what, father?"  
"Damme, look at young Ross in the paper!" The rest of them sat up with a start.  
"In the Times?!" asked Mrs. Chynoweth.

Francis leaned forward from his chair and reached to grab the section Charles offered him. Elizabeth stopped playing her harp and came to look over Francis' shoulder. There, in the editorial comment section was a rather tart essay about how wayward the youth of Britain were becoming '...Their outlandish clothes and unkempt hair, licentious behavior and drugs taking bring the country into lower esteem, threaten the common good. So it is, perhaps, a positive sign of betterment that a counter cultural couple such as Mr. and Mrs. Ross Poldark should enter into the more traditional rituals of matrimony rather than the disgraceful rise in co habitation and uptick in unwed births in recent years. Would that other of their disposition follow suit...'

Verity entered the parlor with a cup of tea, discreetly laced with brandy, for her father. "What has got you so interested in the Times?" Francis spoke with disbelief in his voice. "Ross has gone and married that girl, that schoolgirl he'd been keeping!"  
"Demelza..." said Elizabeth, with the same dazed sounding voice.

"What?!" cried Verity. This outburst roused Aunt Agatha and struck Francis, Elizabeth and Charles as a sign that Verity was in agreement with them that Ross had lost his mind. They could not know that she was in sympathy with the couple and had attended the wedding. She left that for Ross to inform them all when they returned from London. She hurried to the other side of Francis' chair and, as surprised and disturbed as she was by the picture of them leaving Caxton Hall, mercifully with Dwight and Ned obscuring her and Andrew in the doorway beyond, smiled to see how loving and happy they looked as they smiled into each others eyes on the steps of the entrance. Ross looked handsome and Demelza looked beautiful and they both looked very much in love. They were the most romantic looking hippie couple one could hope to see.  
"What the devil does he mean by it..." said Francis, not quite to anyone in particular. Mrs. Chynoweth sniffed, "Even old Joshua had better sense not to marry a hussy like that."  
"Ross was always a bad boy," smiled Agatha, "At least he wed she rather than be a ridin' her wi' no ring!" she laughed as Charles gave her a sour look. After some more scandalized conversation they agreed, as shocking as it was, the thrust of the comment showed them in a positive light for all that it was an embarrassment to the Poldarks to see their cousin in the paper.

Dwight and Ned were still at the gatehouse, fending for themselves as Jud and Prudie were given a rare holiday until Ross and Dem returned. There were picking up provisions in Sawle when Dwight happened to see The News Of The World, a rather downmarket tabloid paper in the newsagents window as they passed. "Caxton Hall Shocker". Caxton Hall caught Dwight's eye and then he gasped at the blurb. Ned turned and found Dwight had dashed into the newsagents. He came out with the paper. "I didn't take you for reading that kind of newspa..." He was struck dumb by Dwight turning the article to face him. A cheerful, bitter little article about how scandalous the behavior of rock and roll musicians and artists conducted themselves was, especially availing themselves of the dubious pleasure of underage girls. A case in point being Ross Poldark of the band Resurgam marrying his child groupie, a girl he had installed at a tender age in his farmhouse lair in Devon. Dwight snorted, they didn't get Cornwall right... "What a scabby lie!" said Ned, angered over the article. It was the sort of pearl clutching that barely disguised the glee of being able to inform their readers of dirty linen and lies. There were certainly artists and television presenters and musicians having it off with young kids. That wasn't a made up story, for what its worth. Having Ross and Dem as their example was erroneous and unbelievable, yet twinning the true story with the false one was going to blur to the point where people might believe it all.  
"Fuckin' hell... We have to tell Ross!" said Ned growing angrier by the minute. This article was taking the piss and throwing muck on his friends. Ned was annoyed to see that, in their zeal to cast aspersions on them, News of The World made the suggestion that Ross named their instrumental jam, on side two of their last album, "Sugar candy and Napoleon Brandy" as a lewd reference to Dem. Ned had named that song. Yes, it was meant to be Ross and Dem but not with the taint of something horrid in it like the paper said. He had watched Dem happily walking in front of Ross on the pavement in London after he'd bought the afghan coat she been after. All the young girls were mad for the style and Ross had her plain wool coat over his arm because she insisted in wearing it out of the shop. It had curly fringe all about it and flowers embroidered all down the front, You couldn't tell her nothing, she was a queen in that coat. She was delighted in it and proud of it as she walked, her gait still with a hop in it, she was just turned fifteen then...Ross walked behind her in his long dark coat and she skipped along ahead of him. They were a picture. Ross had brought her up, really, like an uncle might. Dem was a good girl and Ross never laid a hand on her any earlier than now. Many girls get hitched at sixteen, that weren't a crime! Ross and Dem were innocent, it was the rest of the world around them that was evil, thought Ned.  
Dwight thought it through. "They should be told, but not now. Let them come back first. If they hear it from someone else, so be it, but I don't want us to be the messenger, ruin their honeymoon...he hasn't given Dem the twelve string yet..." Ross' wedding present to Demelza was hidden in the gatehouse. Ned sighed. "EMI might do it themselves if they get to hear of it..." Dwight sighed as well. "They just wanted an excuse to write the rest of it..." The rest of the article cast gossipy aspersions at various other rock stars a rung or two above a band like theirs, gossip that was, on some level, true. There were underage girls floating about the scene, some willing, some not. Ned sighed again, "Poor old Dem..."

In London, oblivious to the storm clouds gathering, Ross and Dem, he in just his jeans and she in a lace trimmed, cotton slip, enjoyed a late breakfast of toast, marmalade and strawberries, and their tea going cold as they spent most of the meal with Dem in his lap, teasing each other with strawberries and losing themselves in fruit scented kisses. The phone rang. They looked at each other, each of them trying to summon the will to get up and answer the phone. Dem smiled as Ross traced her lips with the pointed end of a strawberry and she bit into it playfully. He grinned and put his hand behind her neck, spreading his fingers into her hair as she dipped down to lick into his mouth. They resumed kissing.

Verity hung up. She knew Ross and Dem should be told. Trying to reach a newlywed couple on a Sunday morning was a fools errand anyway. It would keep.

Ross and Dem remained in the dark until Monday, sequestered in the happy bubble of their newlywed bliss. Ross had chosen London as a way to mitigate the nine day wonder's worth of gossip he resigned himself to once they returned to Cornwall. He had no idea people would be hearing of and discussing his marriage up and down the country.

Dem was still asleep and Ross had gone to the kitchen to make some tea. The phone rang. "Ah, Verity! Good morning!" he sat down, believing he would have an enjoyable chat with her and went silent as she explained that someone else had taken pictures of them and that they had been in the Times editorial page on Sunday.  
"Ross?" asked Verity.  
"I'm...still here..." said Ross slowly.  
"I'm sorry to intrude on your time together but I didn't want you to come back to Nampara and not know."  
"No, Verity. You were right to tell us." Ross realized it might have been Verity ringing on Sunday morning when they were too full of themselves to pick up and answer.  
"Thank you, Verity. I know you wanted to warn us. That was good of you."  
The tea abandoned, Ross went back upstairs. He got back into bed. Demelza did not wake. He put his arm around her and relished the heat of their bodies at the points where they touched. He had a think. One article wasn't the end of the world, and a somewhat sympathetic one. Dem didn't need to be told right away. I'll mention it tonight. We'll have dinner and we'll discuss it when we get back.  
At dinner, it was not their imagination. The other diners were taking surreptitious looks and even boldly direct glances their way. Ross and Dem were not bothered at first but it slowly became oppressive. They became aware of the interest of the other people and felt as if they were suddenly put under a microscope. "Why are they staring?" whispered Demelza. Ross said, quietly, "Verity called this morning. Apparently, some other photographer took a picture of us leaving Caxton Hall and it ended up in The Times yesterday. Demelza's mouth opened but no sound came out. "We had our picture in the newspaper?" Ross sighed, "Yes, there was an editorial about counter cultural types and we were the example." "Oh..." Dem didn't like the sound of that. "Verity said the article was not bad. She said it was really the sort of affair where they hem and haw over the youth of today. We were a useful illustration, I suppose..."  
They hailed a cab. The driver kept looking at them in his rear view mirror.  
"Are you them 'ippies what got hitched?"  
"What?!" said Ross. The driver did not strike Ross as being a reader of The Times.  
"In the News Of The World!" Dem gasped.  
"I seen you two in the paper! Good on you, lad! Many 'appy returns!" Ross blanched. "Thank you." The admiration of the driver had more than a little of the ' wink wink, nudge nudge' to it. Ross had done well in the cabby's eyes, securing himself a 'young thing'. They entered the flat, disconcerted. "He said we were in the News Of The World...?" said Ross in a bit of a daze. There was no way that could be good but they were loathe to say this to each other. They drew a bath, something they had come to enjoy and spent time just soaking in it with an occasional chaste kiss, each of them a little absent about it tonight. They had lived with gossip around them from the start but this was at a scale they had not considered, even with Ross signed to a major label.  
"Dem," said Ross, quietly, "However they choose to speak about us...please don't take it to heart. Good or ill, they don't know us at all..." She lay back, wriggling a little to get comfortable and sighed. Ross wondered, what were they to some back home? The wastrel son of a notorious womanizer and some low class girl? What if they came to know Ross and Dem had also been a junkie and a runaway once? Possibly putting himself and Dem on the lowest rung of society to the sort of people who tittered about them. Ross started to worry. What if that got in the papers? His drugs registration. Ross lay his head on the back of the tub. He did not like thinking. At the moment, his ardor for Dem was keeping the darkness in him at bay, but it was never far away. He'd used drugs to resist having to confront the darker whorls of his mind and had freed himself of them. But times like now, the uncertainty of knowing whether his secret shame might be blared out for all to see, for Dem to see...made him wish to shut down in a way he had not felt for some time. Demelza felt Ross stroke her thigh but with nervousness in it-not an overture or an act of love. Ross was unnerved by these newspaper stories even as he counseled her to disregard them. Dem sighed again. She didn't know what it was about her that made people so insistent about paying her attention. She would like nothing better than to be as ordinary as anyone else. She and Ross could never just be, it seemed. Why should anyone else pay more mind to them than anyone else? Why should people forever be prying and judging them? Shouldn't people have better things to do than watch and wonder at what Ross and Demelza do...? She stood up and left the tub. Ross looked to her and wondered if she would think less of him if she knew of his heroin addiction. He didn't want her to find out. The stigma of it was so severe. Dem could see Ross looking at her but not seeing her. He was fretting. "Ross?" He blinked himself into the present. "I was miles away..." he admitted. Dem smiled. "Maybe it won't be so bad, Ross," she said as she wrapped a towel around herself, "Sunday's paper is Monday's fish wrap!" They laughed. "We haven't been to the chippy since we've been here..." said Demelza, a little surprised by realizing that. They'd gotten out of the habit of having fish and chips. Ross was a little ashamed to go to the chip shop up the road. He knew they'd seen him at his worst, more than once, when he was using.  
"I'd rather have fish in a proper restaurant." he said.  
They dried off and readied themselves for bed. Sensing that Ross was unhappy, Dem made a point of holding him to her. She put her arms about him and drew his head onto her shoulder. Ross relinquished himself to her care. He felt safe there, in her arms. Dem wouldn't think less of him for having been an addict, would she? He put it out of his mind by degrees. He put his arms around her and closed his eyes. As he crossed over into sleep he thought 'What are a smack head and an abused runaway worth on the open market? Or two skilled guitarists, two people who overcame their difficulties? What is the worth of a rock musician and his wife? We'll find out soon...'  
Later in the night, they woke and made love. Afterwards, they curled back into each others arms and slept. They would return to Nampara soon. He would be away in Europe with the band in September, before they took a break at Christmas. The time they had together now was important and the outer world was doing its best to spoil it. Ross nestled himself closer to her. There was studio time, earmarked for the band, that he could use. Maybe they could play together and record it before they went home. If they agreed on the songs ahead of time it wouldn't take too long to do...three days in the studio, maybe four? Dem had never been in a recording studio, it might be fun for her...He slept in a better frame of mind. Let the tongues yap, he thought. Don't give a thought to what the papers say. Enjoy being together, working together... I want to record music with my wife... he smiled at the thought and whispered sleepily into her hair, "Good night, my love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's New Pussycat?, Tom Jones 1966
> 
> What's new pussycat, whoa  
What's new pussycat, whoa, oh whoa  
Pussycat, pussycat, I've got flowers  
And lots of hours to spend time with you  
So go and powder your cute little pussycat nose  
Pussycat, pussycat, I love you, yes I do  
You and your pussycat nose


	4. Crystal Ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer of Love

I. Summer In The City

The freelancers who had the good fortune to photograph Ross and Dem leaving Caxton Hall made a killing. Pickings for all, one might say. All the music papers ran it with congratulations to the happy couple. The News of the World bought it, using the photo as a dodge to print some of the salacious gossip about other performers they had been anxious to print and now could do under the guise of indignation over a rock guitarist marrying his sixteen year old mistress. The conservative papers, also looking for reasons to run stories about the counter culture bought it and were split. Some believed it was a positive sign that the wayward youth of the country were returning to older values, choosing formal marriage over living together and out of wedlock births. Others felt it was a mockery of the institution of marriage. What will all these long haired wastrels do for a living? They can't all make rock records, can they? More sign that the moral fiber of the nation was in peril. Teen magazines, geared toward young women, pronounced Ross and Dem a hippie dream couple in their fashionable clothes and many 'get the look' articles were sprung from the original photo.* Ross and Demelza put a brave face on it. The accusation that Ross had been sleeping with her underage had followed them from the very beginning, in Cornwall. This rumor would now follow them in perpetuity, in part, because of this burst of national interest in them. They had become numb to the charge after so many years living with it, thought it rankled them. On the other hand, the ramifications of their notoriety were not altogether bad. Biba sent Dem three, floor length dresses-one black with thin gold threads woven through it, one a bit like a Regency style gown in green and plum purple slim fitting satin dress that had more than a hint of 1930s movie star glamour. They gave Ross a pair of black leather, Spanish made, riding boots. Every scrap of lace clothing evaporated from the Biba boutique when Dem's dress was identified as theirs in the press. They received good wishes every where they happened to go in London. The bitter gossip of Cornwall did not touch them in the capital. At first mortified by the press interest, they found that the good will of the Londoners around them augmented their honeymoon. Ross was annoyed it happened at all, though the International Times, the counter culture newspaper, had the one comment in this tempest in a teapot that truly amused him. The editor, who had recognized Ross and remembered him from the Modernist scene, ran the photo with the caption:

Where do old Mods go when they die? Why, to heaven, of course! Cheers to Mr. and Mrs. Ross Poldark who put all the straights in fits for daring to get married the way anybody else would. I look forward to the day when we are all ruled over by their groovy children.

EMI, happy to capitalize on the situation, to make hay while the sun shone, took full page ads in all the music press with picture of both Resurgam records underneath the black and white publicity photo of Ross, Dwight and Ned playing at Blaises Club and the label was happy to indulge Ross in utilizing Resurgam's studio time without quibbling. Ross secured a set of drums for Ned to use so they wouldn't have to bring them from Nampara. Dwight and Ned arrived at the flat with Dwight's bass, two of Ross' electric fender guitars, and the two acoustic Gibsons from the parlor.  
"Oi, Missus!!" Ned gave Dem a big bear hug. They could hear Ross come down the stairs and they had a happy reunion. Dwight gave her a hug and kissed her cheek. "I see marriage agrees with you, Dem!" Dem's happiness seemed to exude from her skin. When a person is as happy as she was that summer it is hard for others not to be effected and that atmosphere blessed their undertaking that week. The plan was to record Ross and Demelza singing together and some tracks with her singing alone. They would shut up the London house afterwards. Dwight and Ned would return to their London digs until they left for their tour. This would give Ross and Demelza August to themselves at Nampara before Ross left with them for Europe. They spent their first couple of days working out what they would do and playing on the third floor of the flat. They chose some blues covers and some folk songs. They didn't have the time to try and work up new material. This project was for joy anyway, rather than something serious. Dem was excited and happy to be able to work with them like a proper member of the band, something she'd daydreamed about for years as she toiled at her schoolwork while they worked on their songs in the parlor at Nampara. Their days were full of creativity and laughter and the enjoyment of feeling like they had all conjured this project as a natural outgrowth of their early days when Dem was first at Nampara and they were working on their first album. They had gotten the gang back together. They worked at EMI Recording Studio during the day, came back to the flat in the evening to have their dinner and then took on the town, seeing live music in the London clubs each night. By the end of the week, they recorded nine songs as a band and two that Demelza sang a cappella. Enough for an album...

II. Our House

Garrick barked and leaped about Demelza as she came through the gate. She dropped to her knees and gave him a cuddle. As big as he was now, they still greeted each other as if he was a puppy and she a young kid. Ross smiled at the sight. Jud and Prudie, minding the house and feeding Garrick while Ned and Dwight were away, gave Ross and Dem their congratulations and they had tea together before they went off to resume their time off. They waved them goodbye from the door. Having decided to deal with his Trenwith relations once Jud and Prudie returned gave them two weeks to themselves with no judgments or distractions. Prudie had stocked their larder so they didn't need to go any further than Nampara cove and could relax in seclusion. It was three in the afternoon. They retired to bed.

Ross sat up by the headboard of the bed and Dem lay across the bed, using his thighs as a makeshift pillow. He played with her hair, twisting a curl about his fingers, gently. Dem blinked lazily. They were dreamy and content and listened to the silence around them. It was nearly six o clock. "Are you hungry?" asked Demelza. "Not really, though I suppose we should eat." said Ross. He looked down at her. "Are you?" She closed her eyes and smiled. "I'm not sure. We should eat though, We exerted ourselves!" Ross started chuckling. She could feel him laughing as she lay on him. He gently traced her breast with his forefinger, through the thin sheet. She slowly tugged at the sheet to expose it, drawing the sheet away.  
At eight, they got up and went downstairs. "We're keeping the wrong hours, yawned Demelza as they finished their dinner. Ross smiled as he put their plates in the sink. "We have no one to please but ourselves." The went to sit in the parlor. Their guitars had been restored to their proper places. Demelza noticed a new, empty stand to the left of the fireplace. " What's that stand for?" she asked. She knew that Ross never left his Fenders out, he always put them back in their cases. "Ah... I have your wedding present in the gatehouse..." She looked puzzled. "What? You mean the studio session wasn't my present?!" Ross looked at her in surprise. He started grinning the sort of grin that made him look younger. "You thought...?" he was smiling to the point he could barely get words out. "Oh, Dem, that wasn't your wedding present! That was..." he stopped again and shrugged a little, shook his head the barest bit, delighted, "That was just because!" They were both smiling foolishly wide grins. "We're keeping the wrong hours," teased Ross, "Should we go get your present now?" She nodded, laughing. He stood up from the sofa and bowed before her. She curtsied. They laughed again as he took her hand. They went out to the gatehouse. Ross unlocked the door and turned on the light. "It's upstairs." he said, "You know that it's a guitar, but I still want you to cover your eyes." Dem sat on the armchair closest to them and covered her eyes with her hands. "There!" she said. She heard Ross mount the stairs and then come back. She heard what had to be the case laid at her feet on the floor in front of her. "Don't peek." said Ross. She heard the clasps open and the gentle tap of the lid resting on the floor. She heard Ross sit on the floor, across from her chair. "You can look now."  
Demelza uncovered her eyes and gasped. At her feet, and hers alone, was a twelve string Gibson guitar of a quality that took her breath away. A maple body with a rosewood fretboard and, instead of the standard mother of pearl inlays, there were beautifully scrolled leaves and flowers, glistening their subtle colors under the pearl sheen, glowing against the wood. Demelza was speechless. She looked at Ross in disbelief and looked at it again, sliding off the chair to her knees, gently touching the neck as if it might disappear at any moment, as if she couldn't believe it was real. "Ross..." she whispered, "It's that beautiful..." Ross was gratified to see her so overwhelmed. He'd searched for that Gibson all over London, knowing that the floral motifs would please her. He came to her side, they looked at each other and mirrored their love for each other in their eyes. "Wife." he said. She smiled and kissed him as gently as their first kiss. "Husband."  
They returned to the house and set the twelve string next to the black and maple six strings. They looked handsome together. Ross' black guitar with a silver scroll pattern around the hole flanked by the two maple wood guitars. They stood admiring them and then they brought them to the sofa and played quite late into the night. They traded parts, played together and listened as they took turns playing alone. The tone and lovely chime of the double strings of Demelza's guitar was enchanting. Their old twelve string was a study instrument. This new one had an elegance one could hear. Ross lay back and closed his eyes. Dem played beautifully and it made his heart swell with pride and happiness. He blinked suddenly. He had fallen asleep. Dem was now laying with him on the sofa having put both guitars back on their stands. She slept as well. He wiggled a little, to get comfortable, put his arms around her and they slept in the parlor until morning.

* Their Caxton photo still ends up in wedding style magazines to this day and they are all over bridal Pinterest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crystal Ship, The Doors 1967
> 
> Summer In The City, The Lovin' Spoonful 1966
> 
> Our House, Crosby, Stills and Nash 1970


	5. The Look Of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August to December, 1968

That August, away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues of gossip that fell upon them from the Caxton photo's launch into the public sphere, Ross and Demelza embarked on a quiet Eden of love that the outside world made no attempt to breach. Nearly every inch of Nampara and the adjoining land was witness to their ardor and the days flowed slowly for them as they had reached a point where their preoccupation with the other set them suspended in a world where time ceased to function. There was the rising sun and the setting sun, the only mark of the days and even that held no claim on them. They were each others entirely.  
After two weeks, the Paynters returned but Ross, still enchanted with their idyll, chose to remain sequestered at home, leaving those at Trenwith to deal with before he left for the tour. He was hording as much time with Dem as he could for they would be apart until December. Resurgam had a bump in record sales after the extra push of advertising EMI undertook after the wedding photo got into the press. There was renewed interest in them that made this tour, which had been scheduled in any case, more of a priority to the label. He, Dwight and Ned would be in Holland, France, Switzerland, and West Germany, then wrap up in Portugal, Spain and Italy before returning to England. Fate seemed to smile on Ross for a change and his mood was lightened in a manner alien to him. He was happy. An uncomplicated happiness that was new to him and fused with his honeymoon with Dem. Their relationship had no flaw.  
Three of the Fenders in the parlor were spirited away to join the gear for the tour. Ross' clothes were crammed into a U.S. Army bag rather than a suitcase. The drab army green setting the odd assortment of identifying tags on it as if they were lit from within. They had a quiet dinner at home and one last night of love before Ross joined his bandmates in London. The warmth of their bodies had become as necessary as air to breathe since their first night together. He'd been away before but this parting was not the same. The previous, cheerful admonishments to 'be good' or 'get home safe' no longer applied. Their relationship had changed. They felt like they were relinquishing part of themselves this time. That Ross would leave his heart behind and Dem would pin her's in its place. Sleepy words of love, love itself and the promise of resuming their enjoyment of each other when he returned sweetened their rest on their last night. In the morning, with a few last wacks to Garrick's flanks, the attention he favored, and a final kiss goodbye to Dem, he embarked on his journey.

September

At first, Demelza was lonesome, but after about a week, she started to find her own rhythms of life and enjoyment of her days at Nampara without Ross. She and Garrick spent the early mornings walking about and she spent her days practicing the guitar and the piano. She and Prudie worked along side each other in the kitchen and enjoyed cooking and baking. She would go out to Truro on occasion to sit in with some of the folk musicians who played at two different pubs that had become its own scene in some ways. Dem listened and learned and, occasionally, could show them a thing or two of her own. Many of the musicians were older men who had an encyclopedic knowledge of the old Cornish songs and she learned many of them as Jud enjoyed tapping his toe with a pint as he waited for her so they could return to Nampara. One night, emboldened by drink, Jud bellowed out, "Any of them strummers knows 'The Fly'?" A laugh bubbled up. A guy around Jud's age said "Oh, aye, but I d'need a singer for tha!" Dem started to laugh as Jud, who could not be accused of being drunk, simply merry, stood up at the bar to say, "Oo's to say I can't sings a tune of an evenin'?' Whistles and claps started about the room. "G'on Jud!" said Dem laughing. He came forward and stood with the fiddler and the old man with his guitar. Those younger in the crowd, like Dem, cheered. Coming to see the old timers was part of what made the Truro folk scene exciting. With a flourish on the violin that held a scratchiness of tone those younger couldn't hope to duplicate. Jud relished the attention as he sang:

Now the first job that I wor-ked at  
For Maister Farmer Vart  
He comes to me one day and he said,  
"A first-class turnip-hoer thee't are."  
For the fly, the fly, the fly is on the turnip,

And it's all that I can do to try

To keep fly off the turnip!

But there's some delights in harvesting,  
And some bein' fond of mowin'  
But of all the jobs that be on a farm  
Give I the turnip-hoeing

For the fly, the fly, the fly is on the turnip,

And it's all that I can do to try

To keep fly off the turnip!

When I was over at yonder farm, the sent for I a-mowin,  
But I sent word back I'd sooner have the sack, than lose my turnip-hoein',  
Now all you jolly farming lads as bides at home so warm.  
I now concludes my ditty with wishing you no harm.

After the crowd joined in at the end to sing the chorus, Jud took a bow as the room exploded with applause. Dem clapped loudest of all.

October

Resurgam's fortunes had risen in the wake of their lead singer's marriage. The music papers went far afield, seen as the gold standard for music writing on the continent and the tour was a success as it wound its way through its schedule. Pictures found their way back to England in New Music Express, Record Mirror and Melody Maker.(Dem kept them all in a neat pile in the parlor for Ross to see when he returned.) They played well and the shows were well attended. The dubious hotels they stayed in were a bit shabby but about what one could expect. Even on a major label with a sudden burst of interest, they were still a slogging band rather than a better known group. Ross turned a knowing smile towards Dwight and Ned as they occasionally availed themselves of the attention of female attendees. Ross, more than once waggled his left hand and his wedding ring to signal he'd not partake as his band mates did to ladies who had not the grasp of enough English to understand he wasn't being coy saying 'No.' He returned to his room each night for a good night's kip. He had no temptation to stray.

November

As Dem and Jud entered the pub and a song was ending, old Jope Ishbel looked up to the door and said, "There she be! Roll up, girl! You ain't heard this one afore!" As she made her way to the front with her guitar case on her back, the top of which rising over her head, she stopped in the middle of the room, her face a picture of happy surprise as he sang:

Oh I wish I was a flower  
On our own Dem's guitar  
She'd press her fingers on me  
Like a proper playin' rock star  
Now don't ye be forgettin' us  
When ye found yer fame  
For The Seven Stars in Truro  
Is where you first made your name!

Dem blushed. There were hearty whoops and cheers as she gave Jope a hug and they sat to play together. She and Jud had become regulars. The old timers appreciated her interest as well as the other youngsters in the old songs. The gossip didn't go away, but it didn't touch her somehow. Dem had a firm friendship with many in Truro and some good will from strangers besides. Those who still believed her to be 'Ross Poldark's slut' didn't touch her life at this point. They weren't in the same circles she moved in. Having had the notoriety of being a rock star's wife as well as supporting the local scene with her participation did much to change the perceptions of those who might have been on the fence. And if some still harbored suspicions about her relationship with Ross, even they had to admit he had made an honest woman of her.

December

The boar's head in hand bear I  
Bedecked with bays and rosemary  
And I pray you my masters be merry  
Quot estis in convivio

Caput apri defero  
Reddens laudes Domino

The boar's head as I understand  
Is the rarest dish in all the land  
When thus bedecked with a gay garland  
Let us servire cantico

Caput apri defero  
Reddens laudes Domino...

As Jud sang along with the old fiddle player, Dem felt her stomach roil a little, felt her throat twitch. She clapped along but soon excused herself to the ladies where she promptly threw up the cider she'd drunk and felt over warm. Ill. She felt ill. She rinsed her mouth over the little sink and looked at herself in the sallow light above her in the mirror along the wall. She'd known her period was late. This was her first brush with morning sickness that didn't have the decency to arrive in the morning. 'A baby!' she thought, 'Our baby!' She didn't look different, but inside she was much changed. She returned to the room and sat down smiling. Her stomach still felt dodgy, but she felt over the moon.

Ross' army bag landed with a thud on the foyer hall of the London flat. He'd enjoyed the tour, it went well. Ned and Dwight parted ways with him at the airport, all bound for their own Christmases and vowing to return for a knees up at New Years. Ross turned on the light in the kitchen. He saw his reflection in the glass doors that led to the garden. He saw a husband one day away from being reunited with his wife. He smiled. He knew Dem would not want to spend Christmas at Trenwith but that was something that had to be done. When he went to Trenwith before the tour, they'd extracted a promise that he would bring 'their new cousin' to Christmas. Verity would be there, so Dem would have at least one friend. Elizabeth would, of course, be there and that would not make Dem at ease. He wondered if he also might be ill at ease. He had not quite relinquished his devotion to Elizabeth, so bound in his London Mod days. He still held a spark of love for her, for all he adored Dem. What man wouldn't have regard for the women who meant the most to him? He looked in the refrigerator. Some orange juice in a glass bottle well past its use and little else. He made some tea. As he drank it he thought of Dem and how good it would be to fall back into bed with her and lose track of the world around them once more. So soon.

At Nampara, there were boughs of greenery scenting the air and a Christmas cake, the fruit in which had been drowsing in liquor since August, resting in the larder. Demelza was kneading dough in the kitchen with her back to the doorway. Ross crept behind her. He grabbed her hips. "Oh!" she was startled. "Ross! I didn't expect you 'til tomorrow!" she smiled, "I thought you'd be at the flat!" He brought his face close to hers, still standing behind her. "I have a home, do I not? And a wife...?" He let his finger brush down her neck as he said this. She feigned disinterest. "You've been away so long, I've forgotten.." He pinched her. "That I live here?" She stepped back, teased him by pressing back against him. He exhaled and sighed. Her aim was true. "That I'm your wife..." The leer in her voice made him laugh, even as her flirting was driving him to distraction. He rubbed against her. "Let that be a reminder..." She turned and he kissed her. When they stopped she saw she had gotten flour on his clothes. "Oh! Sorry!" He chuckled and looked at the dough. "Can you set that aside?" She blinked at him coquettishly. "Yes, I think that can be arranged." He stepped back and looked her up and down. Shall we meet upstairs?" She nodded. "Yes, Ross."

In the morning, Jud and Prudie found Ross' bag laying, forlorn, in the hall, the kitchen in slight disarray and the house stone silent. "They'll not be astir for a while..." mused Prudie as she put the kettle on the hob. "An 'im gone three month? 'Pect not to see 'em for sometime." chuckled Jud. They looked to each other as a cry was heard. The kettle started singing. "'Pect we'll 'ear 'em whether we see 'em or no..." she smirked. She poured hot water into the teapot. "Aye." Jud chose a currant bun from the tin on the table. He paused before taking a bite with a wry smile. "Tis what married folk do..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Look Of Love, Dusty Springfield 1967
> 
> Christmas at Trenwith, Julia, 'Thy Sweetness", the proper explanation of Ross on Top Of The Pops and then, god help me, finally, All Tomorrow's Parties (the 70s)


	6. The Holly And The Ivy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas 1968

I. You're All I Need To Get By

Elizabeth was seated at her dressing table, wearing a silk slip, holding a flacon of perfume, scenting herself with it in a ritualized manner that looked vaguely occult. She used the small protrusion in the stopper to place a drop on each inside wrist, the crook of each elbow, behind each ear and a final drop in the center of the back of her neck. Francis always stopped what he happened to be doing to watch her scent herself. It was a fascinating procedure. She looked at him in the mirror with a smile. Christmas was not a truly formal affair for the Trenwith Poldarks, though they did enjoy dressing with a nod to the festive season. Francis was buttoning the cuffs of his shirt and about to don a dark blue cashmere sweater rather than a wool one. Elizabeth had a very pretty brocade dress, floor length, crimson, woven with roses shot through with gold, laying on the bed, to be worn with gold leather, almond toed shoes. They'd made love, a rare occurrence since the birth of Geoffery Charles three years earlier. They had drifted apart from each other from that point. Something in the knowledge that they would be hosting Ross and Dem compelled them to reach out to each other today. Dutch courage, perhaps. Seen and considered on their own merits, the Trenwith Poldarks would seem to be more fortunate than their Nampara cousins. Together they had wealth, a grand estate, the respect of the community and an heir in the wings to stand with Francis and his father, Charles, as one of the most important families in the county. But, should the glossy surface of these niceties be scratched, truer colors would emerge. Francis and Elizabeth entered their marriage believing they loved each other. Francis, heir to Trenwith, had the added outcome of acquiring the sort of wife he was expected to have. Elizabeth was a covetable prize and, perhaps, uncharitably, a sign of victory over his dashing cousin Ross as well as the other suitors who might have wanted her for themselves. The prize was barbed, though. Francis quickly came to see they had little in common and that his victory over Ross was, at best, a token. She remained a faultless society wife but there was little that bound them together emotionally and the previous relationship with Ross seemed to plague her in some unspecified way. Francis, who also felt a bit uncomfortable in himself because of his father's critical attitude towards him, he felt he was a pretender as an heir, for his father was reluctant to give him more responsibilities in business matters, and a pretender as a husband, a Poldark of last resort. That his status in the community sweetened her acceptance of him did not surprise or upset him. It did surprise him to see how hollow their life felt. Ross had the hard luck that often befalls the side of a family denied the largess of the heir's portion. Ross' late father was the second son and scandalized the district as a notorious womanizer. It was nothing to Joshua Poldark to pursue, catch and then abandon any woman who caught his eye, be they married or unmarried. He created scandal after scandal in an district that, from time immemorial, was fueled by gossip. Joshua's antics were one of the very few topics of talk that did not need embellishment. His behavior was so extreme there was no need to exaggerate. The Nampara Poldarks remained the branch of relations that held a dodgy reputation, father and son. A good portion of the county, indeed, the country, looked askance at Ross' marriage to his sixteen year old ward and their unconventional life as musicians. But Ross and Dem had a bit of glamour about them too. Ross' band, Resurgam, was signed to EMI and the media storm over their wedding gave them a notoriety that made them a bit larger than life. They also seemed to possess true love and the right to call their souls their own. Francis and Elizabeth who kept up appearances, the one thing that kept them afloat in a relationship with little to bind them together, felt unnerved to be in their company tonight. Francis knew Ross had been furious when he lost Elizabeth to Francis and it strained what had been a close and friendly relationship between them up to that point. Elizabeth, who had been Ross' girlfriend in the early sixties, the toast of Modernist London, was ill at ease. Ross had been the sharpest 'face' on the scene, immaculate and fashionable. She understood Ross in those terms. She was baffled by his embrace of the counter culture movement. She had come upon Ross and Dem at Nampara one morning and was shocked to see them both looking slovenly and oversexed. His hair had grown as wild as the girl's and he had abandoned his fine suits and elegant shoes to dress more like a farmer. He was an alien. Perhaps she never knew him properly. That didn't stop her fascination with him though. More than once since that morning, did she wonder at the idea of what it would be like to abandon herself to lust as they had done and consider what Ross was capable of in the throes of that sort of passion. Passion for that odd red headed girl...passion for her...  
So the Trenwith Poldarks armed themselves that Christmas Eve. United in the face of Charles' declining health, after a heart attack some months earlier, the ill health of Elizabeth's mother and her increasingly needy demands. United as they were reared to be, the emerging head of one of the best families in Cornwall. They could try harder to be those people at Christmas, while hosting a couple who might show them up for all their faults.

After a brief period of consideration, Dem chose the maple six string to bring to Trenwith rather than her twelve string with the extravagant, inlay, mother of pearl flowers. A vain little part of her wanted to bring the twelve string to show Elizabeth that Ross had given her such a present. But she knew that Elizabeth wouldn't care about the quality of any of their guitars and that the impulse was immature. The carols they had been playing recently didn't need the extra flourish of a double stringed sound anyway. She sat at her dressing table. She had no need to scent herself with perfume because she had found a small shop in London that sold Indian goods and was scented from head to toe from a bar of sandalwood soap she'd bought there. She wore a rich, dark red, velvet mini dress with a square neck and long sleeves that had a bell like flounce at the wrists. This worn with white tights and red shoes with a modest heel. Ross had bought her a small, script 'D' in gold, hung from a finely wrought gold chain and it sat in the hollow beneath her throat. She watched Ross getting dressed in her mirror. He had been amused by seeing Mick Jagger going around London in a series of 18th century waistcoat vests-proper ones with florid embroidery, like a peacock. But the style grew on Ross. He wore a dark green vest, without embroidery but cut in a similar manner to that older style. He wore an ivory linen shirt and dark trousers with the Spanish boots Biba had sent him upon their wedding being announced in the papers. He looked, if possible, more wholly 'Ross' than she had ever seen and it made her smile. He saw her smile in the mirror. He crossed the room and bent down, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I think we'll pass muster..." he joked. They looked at their reflection. They were each a little nervous. Elizabeth had been Ross' first love and they had a complicated, emotional pull towards each other for all they were finished as a couple. She had been very cold and judging towards Ross and Demelza before they wed and they both had reason to enter this Christmas party with a bit of trepidation. She tilted her chin to look up at his face and he gave her a clumsy kiss on the nose that made them both laugh. He went downstairs. Dem looked at herself in the mirror again. She hoped she could make it through dinner. Her pregnancy was still secret. She didn't want to tell the rest of the Poldarks and so kept Ross in the dark as well. They might well find out because her nausea seemed to be worse in the late hours of the day. Dem was frightened she might sick up her Christmas dinner. She gave a sigh. She and Ross had the most wonderful summer and now had a child on the way. She didn't look forward to dealing with Elizabeth and hoped she wouldn't embarrass herself at Trenwith. Elizabeth already thought little of her. Whether her nausea was her own nerves or the baby, she couldn't tell.  
They drove to Trenwith with their guitars and a tin holding a second Christmas cake that they would give to their hosts in the back seat. They could not bring themselves to make conversation. They were aware that they both had cause to be nervous. Ross kept himself to himself for the most part. Had Verity not been in London, he would not have sought her out at Trenwith. He had not spoken to Francis or Elizabeth or Charles until he was on the verge of leaving for Resurgam's tour. He owed it to them to speak to them directly about marrying Demelza, even if it hadn't gotten into every newspaper going. Perhaps they would find a truce between their houses. If he had Dem and Francis had Elizabeth, what reason could be left to continue the avoidance?

II. The Christmas Song

Demelza was struck by the imposing grounds and grand house of Trenwith. They parked on the gravel drive and approached the house with Ross carrying both guitars and Dem holding the cake tin like one of the Three Kings bearing gifts. Before they could ring the bell, Verity came rushing out ,with no coat, to greet them, warmly, as Ross set down one case, briefly, to catch her up in a hug.  
"Happy Christmas!" she gushed.  
They both felt instantly at ease. However fraught their feelings about this party, Verity's friendship with them both was a strength of the event. They both started to feel festive rather than pensive. Verity took Dem's arm, dressed in a deep blue, velvet, midi length dress with matching blue court shoes and sheer black stockings with a sheen of silver glitter in them. Dem took notice. Verity was quite modest but her dress sense was formidable. The scooped neck accented her round face and the blue seemed to reflect in and deepen her brown eyes with a hint of purple about them. Very fetching. The main entrance hall was formal with a Christmas tree tall enough to require a ladder to trim it. Ross moved through the place with the nonchalance of someone who had grown up here as much as Nampara while Dem was awed. She thought Ross' houses were grand. Trenwith put them both quite humble. In truth, she preferred the coziness of Nampara and the London flat to the church like grandiosity. No wonder Elizabeth was so serene. She floated above her surroundings for she lived like a princess. She surely did not help clean and look after this house as Dem did with Prudie. Dem did not envy her that. Perhaps she was common, thought Dem. She liked to have their home around them and make their meals and take care of the place-make it a home. Trenwith was disturbingly like a museum. Old oil paintings lined the walls, there were two parlors, the kitchen was secreted away and all of the furnishings were from an earlier time, very serene and serious looking. Nampara had furniture just as old, but it seemed more lived in and inviting somehow.  
Voices could be heard beyond the hall. Ross and Dem relinquished their coats to servants as Elizabeth and Francis came to greet them. Verity watched with interest as all four of them tried to be friendly in a way that marked out the strain between them. Elizabeth thanked Dem for the cake, setting the tin to the side to be spirited away by the help. She took her hand, looked into Dem's face in an earnest, pleasant manner. "It is so good of you to come to us. May I take you to meet Aunt Agatha?" Dem let herself be led by the hand by the polite and gentle hostess who declared her a 'homeless busker' not seven months ago. Verity followed. With the ladies departed, Ross and Francis shook hands. As much as Ross suffered the annoyance of Elizabeth slipping his grasp, his happiness with Dem allowed him to set that aside. It was past. Francis had grown up along side him as Verity had done and that bond still had strength for all Ross had been angered. "Happy Christmas, Francis!" He meant it. "It's good to see you, Ross! Come, let's save your wife from Aunt Agatha's fortune telling!" Ross laughed at that. His elderly Aunt Agatha was somewhat of a mystic and consulted a pack of tarot cards regularly as well as having a raft of superstitions and old folk wisdom at her disposal. In the large parlor, Agatha abandoned her tarot cards and rum to pepper Dem with good natured if impudent questions. That Dem had gone to Hempel school was a mark in her favor for Agatha knew the name and it marked Dem as a lady in her eyes. "So, bud, got yourself bedded and wedded, did you?" Agatha cackled. "Aunt Agatha!" scolded Verity. " She d'know I don't mean nothing by it!" There by informing Dem of that fact. "Pretty little thing," she patted Dem's hand affectionately. "Nice and sweet at that age."She looked up at Ross who set the guitars by the fireplace. He stood up quickly as Agatha barked in an imposing voice, "Ross! You bin too long away, boy!" Ross looked contrite which Dem found interesting. Jud and Prudie could also compel him to behave in that stern tone. If they were sometimes like parents to Ross, Aunt Agatha seemed to be like a grandmother. Francis spoke up for Ross. "Well, Aunt, Ross is so often galavanting with his band. He was away in Europe for some months, weren't you, Ross?" Ross smiled a grateful smile at Francis. "That is so." Ross often felt at odds with others but, sometimes, even he felt the pull of belonging to others for all he often resisted it. Agatha looked from Francis to Ross, looked from Verity to Elizabeth and back to Dem. Looked them all in the eye. There wasn't much she missed. "I be ninety-one and seen six generations o' Poldarks. You young 'uns need to look out for each other. Me n' Charles won't be here to make you mind forever." Cowed like a room full of school children they all murmured "Yes, Aunt Agatha."  
At that Charles entered the room, strenuously leaning on a cane, which surprised Ross. "Ross, my boy! And your missus! Your servant, ma'am!" he teased with a twinkle in his eye that put Dem at ease. One could see the strand within the Poldarks that made the men imposing and difficult but possess a charm that drew one in, very clearly, in Charles. "Elizabeth! Verity! There's no drinks about! Don't let their throats go dry on Christmas Eve!" They settled by the fire. Charles teased Dem by insisting her favorite drink was Babycham, a pear cider, that allowed him to poke fun at both of them over Demelza's age and get away with it. Ross smiled the boyish smile she liked best and she suppressed a giggle. The Trenwith visit was not as scary as she had feared. They had a pleasant chat by the fire. Geoffery Charles was brought to the parlor by his nurse and greeted the gathered relatives by standing, wide eyed, with his finger in his mouth. They complimented him and wished him Merry Christmas before he was whisked away again. After an enjoyable chat with drinks and shelled nuts, Mrs. Tabb, the housekeeper, came to the parlor to say that dinner was served.  
Dem was seated between Elizabeth and Aunt Agatha. Ross was between Verity and Francis. Charles sat at the head of the table with a paper crown on his head, from a Christmas cracker and demanded that the others follow suit. Ross smiled. Christmas could smooth away the most stubborn problems. He'd felt dread earlier over coming to Trenwith and it had not been anywhere as difficult as he had feared. The night was pleasant all round. Dem didn't seem to be eating much but she looked relaxed and seemed to be enjoying herself. Elizabeth was an impeccable hostess, so what ever misgivings she had in June over them did not show. Dem excused herself from the table as the desserts were being laid. She could hear their happy conversation, faintly, as she hurried upstairs to a hall bathroom where she lost her Christmas meal. Dem went to the sink to rinse her mouth. With that, as unpleasant as it was, she felt much better. She took time to collect herself before she went back down.  
When she returned, Dem was surprised to find guests had arrived. Unannounced and willing to pop by to pay the compliments of the season were George Warleggan and his uncle, Cary, and young John Treneglos with his new wife Ruth, nee Teague. Dem looked to Ross who winked at her. He knew Ruth Teague had been a thorn in Dem's side at school. He let her know with a wink that he would look out for her. Demelza smiled. Time had passed and Ruth did not touch her life. If anything, Ruth seemed ill at ease. Dem was a glamorous rebel. She had been Ross Poldark's ward as well as the prettiest girl in school. Now she was Ross Poldark's wife and a guitarist too. At school, Ruth relished any opportunity to take that wretched brat down a peg. It had not made a difference. Dem was ascendant and Ruth knew it. Ruth looked annoyed rather than her usual smug look of superiority. Elizabeth and Francis, who had no knowledge of Ruth's relationship as Dem's school nemesis were being cordial to the Warleggans. They were, rapaciously, buying up small record labels and trying to consolidate them into a label that would rival EMI and Warner Group. They were often in the same social circles and George was Geoffery Charles' godfather. Ross remained aloof. He knew George at school and never though much of him. He was another moth drawn to Elizabeth's flame. All the boys had wanted her, so long ago...  
The seating had been reshuffled. Agatha had retired and John Treneglos was in her place. Ruth was some seats away by the older Warleggan. They carried on with dessert and Dem enjoyed it without fear of being sick again. John, agog at sitting next to Dem in real life-he'd seen her in the papers-kept up a steady stream of amusing talk that baffled Ruth and amused Ross. Dem blinked at him prettily and answered his questions and comments in a light and carefree manner. It could be seen as flirting. Ruth raised her voice. "So Dem, did you collect all the articles that were written about you this summer?" Dem laughed. "No! It was like an avalanche! I expect there were many we didn't even see, people dearly love a gossip!" John laughed with her, annoying Ruth more. "Ha! Too right!" he said in his upper class, toff, braying voice. "A Merry Christmas and damnation to all gossips!" There was laughter from all at the table and Ruth was obliged to look amused. Charles gave a theatrical belch that the group took pains to ignore. "Damn wind...Let's get back to the parlor. Elizabeth promised to play after dinner and Ross and Dem have their guitars with 'em!"

III. In My Life

They gathered in the large parlor. Dem sat with Verity and Ruth remained at her husband's side. Francis and Ross stood by the mantle as Charles settled himself in the best chair and Elizabeth sat at the harp. She played beautifully. She looked up from time to time and gave a charming look to the assembled guests as she plucked out a winsome version of 'The Holly And The Ivy' and then 'Good King Wenceslas' that whispered the Christmas spirit to the heart. Dem was impressed. There was more to Elizabeth than she had considered. She was very good. They applauded her and then Ross and Dem were persuaded to play. They sat facing each other with their cracker crowns still on. Ross' was purple and Dem's was blue. They played 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen' in a sprightly, intricate style that was upbeat and irresistible fun. They traded lines in the middle of the song, almost teasing each other, as if they were playing a game of tag, both looking towards each other more often than they spared a glance at their fingering on their guitars. Ross' eyes met Dem's and they sparkled with a merriment the Trenwith Poldarks found surprising. Ross rarely looked as unabashedly happy as he did now. Verity was charmed, recognizing how happy love could make a person, and looked forward to seeing Andrew at New Years. Elizabeth watched, fascinated, with a curdle of jealousy in it. Francis was wistful. He could not pretend there was no love between himself and Elizabeth for all their troubles, but they hadn't shared a spark quite like the one between Ross and his young wife. John Treneglos was tapping his toe, excited to see these two in real life, you could see why the papers made such a fuss over them! Ruth snorted a quiet harumph of derision, you couldn't see why the papers made such a fuss over them, who could care about a dirty old man and his child slag? Cary Warleggan's eyebrows raised. He flashed a look of interest to George who shook his head sternly and mouthed 'EMI'. Cary scowled. Ross was signed to EMI and George could see Cary's eyes lit with the idea they could cajole Demelza to signing with Warleggan Group. A girl as pretty as that who could play guitar just as well as her talented husband was a licence to print money as far as Cary was concerned. It was just his luck EMI had their talons in them. George had it on good authority that Demelza had been in EMI Recording Studios, over the summer, working on something serious. Even if she could be talked round, Ross had always been an unbearably arrogant and possessive person, all through school. Ross, possibly, fell out of his mother that obnoxious. He would never allow his wife to be signed away from EMI and he would tell his uncle so when they were on their own afterwards. Charles looked on, content. He had no illusions. This was, most likely, the last Christmas with him at the helm but he was able to enjoy it for the kids seemed better settled. His brother had it hard, what with the loss of his younger son and then his wife. He'd let Ross down in some ways. Charles often felt guilty over Ross. Maybe he should have mentored him when Joshua went off the rails so hard. Ross didn't deserve to be a black sheep. Joshua's carrying on did Ross no favors. But Ross had made something of himself-how many of these long haired musicians actually get a label like EMI to pay them any mind?-and he had a wife to look after him now. Ross had landed on his feet and done it on his own terms, with his own wits. He was a proper Poldark, to be sure.  
They looked smitten and happy as they took their applause. Dem looked to Ruth as she retrieved the glass of port she'd left by her chair on the hearth. "Now Ruth must play something!" She said this knowing full well that Ruth couldn't play a note of anything. "Oh! Oh, no I couldn't!" said Ruth trying not to show her alarm. Dem smiled over her glass. "Oh? Not musical, Ruth? Did your governess not teach you?" Ross hid his smile behind his glass. Dem enjoyed that barb entirely too much. "Perhaps we should have a carol!" said Verity not sensing the exchange between Dem and Ruth was poisonous. Charles gave a roar of a laugh. "That's a grand idea! What about it, young Warleggan? What's your choice?" George, feeling festive and gratified that he was accepted in a society family such as the Trenwith Poldarks said, "I expect we should take our leave soon. Shouldn't 'Silent Night' finish us off in the spirit of the season?" Charles approved. "Well chosen, sir! Have we all got drinks in hand?' This was seen to be true. "A toast then," said Charles. "Happy Christmas and a banger of a 1969!"  
"Happy Christmas!"  
Elizabeth was asked to accompany them on her harp and the all sang 'Silent Night' in an unabashed, joyous way. Dem raised her glass to Elizabeth after she clinked glasses with Verity and Elizabeth, still playing, nodded with a sphinx like smile. Ross and Francis looked to each other and smiled. "Merry Christmas, cousin."said Francis as they clinked their glasses. "Merry Christmas." said Ross. The ice had thawed. It was a merry Christmas indeed.

Garrick was asleep in the parlor having had a good gnaw on the bone Dem left for him. Ross, very gently, took the purple tissue crown off his head and placed it on Garrick's head. This gave them a few minutes entertainment before it fell off on to the floor. They returned the guitars to their stands. Ross crouched down to plug the tree lights back on. "Do you want some tea?' asked Ross. Even Ross couldn't face more alcohol. "Yes, that would be lovely." said Dem as she took off her shoes and sat on the sofa, admiring their quite modest, but very charming, Christmas tree, set between the two older benches by the windows. Ross went to get the tea made. He returned with the pot, two cups and a bit more cake as well. They set the tray between them, drinking their tea and pinching off bits of cake to eat with their fingers. They enjoyed just sitting quiet in their own parlor having gotten through the party and actually had a nice time. Ross was pleased that Dem charmed his relatives and Dem was happy that Elizabeth had not been a trouble to them. Ross licked a bit of marzipan off his finger and Dem passed him a napkin. He wiped his fingers and mouth, moved the tray and sat next to Dem with his arm around her. They admired the tree. "That wasn't so bad."said Ross  
At length, they turned off the tree and went up to bed. As Ross undressed, he thought about Agatha's admonishment of them today. Charles wasn't looking well, for all his holiday bluster and Agatha was quite old. Francis and Ross would be the heads of the family and he wasn't sure either of them were ready for that. Maybe when he and Dem start having children... They snuggled under the covers. Ross yawned. "You disappeared after dinner..." Dem smiled. Now was as good a time as any. "I felt sick." Ross frowned. "Sick?" She lay her head under his chin and hugged him more. "Yes, but that's to be expected when you're pregnant..." Ross gasped. "What?!" She looked up into his face. "We're going to have a baby, Ross!" He sat up. Dem followed suit. He was going to be a father. He was going to be a father! They stared at each other and then started laughing. "Dem!" He couldn't think of anything else to say. She smiled at him, warmly. "Merry Christmas, Ross!" He took her face in his hands. He kissed her forehead, each cheek and her mouth, reverent and slowly, like some sort of ancient pagan ceremony. He rolled her onto the bed and kissed her neck. He raised himself on one elbow and smiled into her eyes.  
"Merry Christmas, my love."  
They stared at each other and with a loving and tender look, he bent down to kiss her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Holly And The Ivy, traditional
> 
> You're All I Need To Get By, Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell 1967
> 
> The Christmas Song ( Chestnuts roasting on an open fire...), Nat King Cole 1961
> 
> In My Life, The Beatles 1965


	7. Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May 16th, 1969

"Dem! Stop that at once!"

Ross came to the front of the house with an arm full of groceries only to find his heavily pregnant wife in an old dress that had been stretched by the baby's bump, digging under the lilac tree with a shovel. He set the cardboard box on the front step of the house and took the shovel away from her. "I don't require you to crochet and sip tea but you shouldn't be shoveling in your condition! What are you thinking?!" Dem smiled at Ross. "I was reading that it was good for trees to put the placenta under the roots, like food..." She was a little winded. She felt it better not to mention that she wanted to move about because her pains had started about twenty minutes ago. "It has to be deep so Garrick can't get at it." Ross looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "I'll finish the hole, Dem. Go inside." She bent down to pick up the shopping. "Dem! Leave that be and go sit down!" She rolled her eyes and went into the house.

Ross had been a nervous wreck as the baby was close to being born. Demelza was taken aside by Prudie to remind her that his mother, father and Ross had been devastated by the death of Claude, Ross' younger brother on top of his parents being dead an' all.  
"He don't mean to fret you so, but he can't help hisself." For that reason, Dem kept from complaining too much. Prudie knew May was hard for Ross anyway. His mother died on the 9th of May and Ross was, in some ways, superstitiously afraid of the month. Prudie declined to tell Demelza that. No point in fretting the maid about Ross' unreasonable fears when the mite was near due.  
As Demelza's bump enlarged, Ross started to hector her more, though they did enjoy themselves and the pregnancy. In the winter months, after dinner, Dem would have her bath and then padded about the house in Ross' shirts and a fuzzy cardigan with her legs poking out-barely decent, thought the Paynters who occasionally caught an eyeful of her as they left for the day. They would curl up on the sofa together by the fire or she would loll on one side while he played guitar. Ross would lead her to bed and they would lie close. Ross was incapable of keeping his hands off of her. She glowed like a goddess and had a subtle plumpness about her as the baby grew. By April, the weather had turned warm and fine-quite rare in Cornwall-and they wandered the fields, they walked the water's edge, they wandered among the blossom frosted apple tress and then she would sit on his lap as Ross stole kisses and rested his hand on the baby's bump. When it did rain, they would play records or the guitar. She would fold and refold the little nappies and blankets that waited in readiness for the blessed event and imagined the baby dreaming the same contented dreams she did. Dem could feel the little person turn and stretch inside her. She even felt the baby hiccuping, which made her laugh like a drain. And she laughed with joy when she felt her skin stretch as a little foot or elbow actually pressed forward enough to bump the back of Dem's guitar. Ross just about dropped his Gibson in his haste to come to her side and feel it himself with his hand. Feeling the movement through Dem's skin. They looked at each other, struck with wonder. Their baby.

Ross brought over a wide, flat stone, probably broken away from the stone wall, and set it up against the wall of the house by the lilac tree. He'd cap the hole with it once the placenta was down there. It was revolting enough she wanted to do it, Ross couldn't bear it if Garrick unearthed it. He brought the groceries in, annoyed to have to brush some ants off of the box. Satisfied there were no more, he brought it in. He declined to mention the ants to Dem for she would have scolded him that he should have let her bring them in. Maybe she was even right but he couldn't help being anxious. As it came nearer to Dem's time, the reality that he would be a father started dawning on him in a way that had been abstract up to this point. 

The midwife arrived with a gas cylinder in a wheeled stand like a suitcase around four in the afternoon. Dem had a contraction at quarter after three that compelled her to crawl about on all fours in the parlor and mewl like a farm animal. Ross called the midwife and paced about. Prudie, sternly, told him to wait out front for the midwife and walked Dem upstairs. She cooed and clucked over her as Dem bitterly denounced fucking around with Ross. "What was I thinking?" she whined as she felt her back hurting her, taking the steps slowly, leaning heavily into Prudie's firm grasp. "How on earth is a full sized baby supposed to come out of my..." Prudie became sharp with her then, "You stop that miners talk and get upstairs with ee! You ain't the first woman to birth a babby! For pity's sake! Upstairs with ee!" Ross led the midwife upstairs. Demelza had been installed in her old room and there were quite a lot of sheets and towels about. Ross helped bring the little gas cylinder in and sat on the bed next to Dem. She looked bedraggled but smiled at him. He gave her a peck of a kiss on her forehead. Prudie barked at him, "Aw right, aw right, out wi' ee!" Ross looked at Dem and was reluctant to leave but even Dem looked at him expectant that he leave this business to the women.  
"I love you." he said, like a reprimanded kid.  
Dem smiled, though he could see discomfort in it.  
"I love you too. I'll have a friend for you in a little while..."

Ross stomped back downstairs, banished. Garrick also seemed antsy at his mistress' distress so Ross opened the door to let him out, only to find he would not go. 'We're a fine pair...' thought Ross. He went into the kitchen which smelled deliciously of chicken broth, simmering on the hob, and distractedly munched on some biscuits. Jud looked over his newspaper at Ross with a funny little grin.' Young Ross was pacing about like ol' Joshua, stuffing his face wi' biccies, just the same...' he thought. They heard Dem groan. Ross sat with a thud in the chair nearest to Jud. "They knows what they's about! Don't do to have a bloke about 'em, you settle yerself down 'ere." Ross nodded and Jud cajoled him into playing cards.  
At quarter to six, Prudie came down to see to supper. Ross and Jud looked up, anxiously, as she entered. Dem was screaming in earnest earlier. "The poor maid used up the cylinder..." Ross' mouth fell open. "She hasn't got any more relief?" "Aye, they did send for another but, even anyhow, she'll drop that babby afore it do come." "Oh god, poor Dem!" Ross stood. "Si'down!" snapped Prudie, "She don't need ee up there!" Having dished up a hearty serving of pie for each of them, she went back upstairs. Dr. Choke arrived with a nurse and the second cylinder at six thirty. Ross had an irrational dislike of Dr. Choke because his father was always curt with him and that dislike transferred to him. They shook hands. Dr. Choke had seen wild looking young people like Ross on television and in the newspapers. Poldark and his wife had been in the newspaper themselves, held up as an example of the disintegration of moral fiber that was bringing Britain down. What could one expect with a father like Joshua...? He was about to say some courteous nothingness when Dem screamed the house down. And then silence. And then a infant's cry.

Ross stared at the ceiling with the happiest smile his face could produce. Dr. Choke, the nurse and Ross rushed upstairs. Prudie let the doctor and nurse pass but stood in Ross' way. "Where do you think you be goin'?" Ross was jubilant and cross at the same time. It was a peculiar feeling. "But..." he started. Prudie crossed her arms. "She and the mite be fine! But they ain't decent! You get back in the kitchen where ee belong, ye daft article! They ain't got out the placentee!"  
Ross looked sulky as he went back downstairs. After about twenty minutes, Prudie came downstairs with a tin basin and set it on the table in front of Jud and Ross. They recoiled. "She said ee knew what to do wi' it!" she smirked. Then, more softly, "You settle that outside an' yer two gurls 'll be all prettied up, waitin' on you." She smiled fondly and patted Ross' shoulder. "This be yer first proper job as a fathur!" Jud slapped his knee and he and Prudie started laughing. Ross smiled. He took the hideous looking placenta to go out through the back door. Garrick barked and started to bound around him. "Down Garrick! Get down!" Garrick lay on the floor of the hall and lay his snout on his paws, snuffling his displeasure. A placenta that smelled like Mummy might as well have been a Christmas pudding set on fire with brandy and that greedy, two legged, so and so paraded it through the house but won't let him have any of it! Garrick barked what could only be seen as a tirade of abuse at Ross as the queen of all puddings was whisked outside.

It was still light enough outside. Ross tipped the basin into the hole and pushed the dirt back in with the shovel. His mother planted this lilac tree and now they were feeding it with their child's afterbirth. How strange... He wondered, as he set the stone over the hole and went to rinse the basin with the garden hose, set it aside, a bit squeamish about bringing it back into the house. Thought, as he washed his hands and gave his face a rinse as well, what sort of uncle might Claude have been? What wry jokes would Papa have made when Dem became pregnant? How doting and loving a grandmother Mama would have been? That sadness was never far away for Ross. It was his companion in someways. But he was happy too. His family was gone but he and Dem were their own family now. Their mothers were both dead and Dem's father pushed out of their lives. His father and brother long gone but, today, they might by smiling, where ever they are...

Tucked up in Ross and Dem's bed, Dem and the sleeping baby took Ross' breath away. He came to sit by her and kissed her mouth. They admired their daughter. He gently ran his finger across her brow. A fine sheen of strawberry blond hair covered her head and her mouth opened and shut a little, even as she slept, and dreamed-what would a newborn dream? Her eyes moved under her eyelids and she was the prettiest baby in the world.  
"She's beautiful..." said Dem  
"You're beautiful..." said Ross, awed at Demelza's strength. She was serene now. She'd been through hell, he knew that, but now she was calm, and happy, and proud and so very beautiful. So gorgeous, his dearest wife...  
"Do you want to hold her?" Ross was nervous, but he knew this would be the first of many times so he steeled himself and carefully, timidly, took her from Dem and looked down upon his daughter. May was a cruel month for Ross. He'd lost his mother and, if he could peel back the layers of his psyche enough, secretly worried he had caused her demise and that of his brother, who died at winter time, with his evil thoughts of jealousy and sibling rivalry as a child himself. He carried a great deal of guilt that of them all, his parents, his brother, Ross remained alive. Sometimes he wondered why. Why of all of them was he still here? He had no real answer. Today, looking at his new born daughter, having made a little girl with Dem, there was perhaps, a reason for him to be in the world. That he be tethered to his world rather than aloof to it.

They named her Julia, meaning youthful. A shadow of the name lay in words like jubilant and jubilee, quite fitting for she gave Ross and Demelza joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today, Jefferson Airplane 1967
> 
> Today, everything you want  
I swear it all will come true  
Today, I realize how much  
I'm in love with you  
With you standing here  
I could tell the world  
What it means to love  
To go on from here  
I can't use words  
They don't say enough


	8. Golden Slumbers

"Aw... what you fiddlin' wi that babby for...? Aw... come to yer Prudie, lamb..."  
Prudie whisked Julia away from a profoundly grateful Ross. Julia kept hours that would defeat the most pilled up of Mods. Ross and Dem were exhausted. Prudie smiled indulgently. "'Ere, you wash up and get some kip, I got the little 'un." Jud called from the hall. "An' if ee be wise, you lot 'll sleep in that bed 'stead of tryin' to make another one of them things!" nodding toward Julia. Prudie gave a soft chuckle, so as not to startle the baby and Ross turned on his heel, refusing to dignify Jud's comment.

Ross ran a bath and blinked himself awake, realizing that he had dozed as the water filled. He was that tired. He pulled the drain to let some of the water out and then peered around the bedroom door. "Dem?" She looked up from ferrying more nappies from the washing line and folding them. They both had content in their smiles for all they were overtired. "Prudie's looking after Julia. Come have a bath." She could have wept from gratitude. They had bathed Julia, but they were worse for wear and, quite frankly, both stank from Dem's milk. Dem because she was nursing and Ross because Julia was so expert at spitting it back up on him. They sank into the hot water and promptly fell asleep were they lay.

A series of thuds on the bathroom door and Julia, making her displeasure known at being kept waiting for a meal. They snapped awake with a start. The water was cold and they both had the disorientation of being in water rather than their bed, casting splashes about the floor as they understood their surroundings and woke up properly. Prudie bellowed from the other side of the door, "The little madam wants feedin'!" Dem answered. "I'll be right there!" She and Ross, still groggy, with the dry eyed daze of a sleep that had not rested them and stiff from sleeping in a bathtub, left the tub and hurriedly dried themselves. "You lie down, Ross, I'll see to her." They exchanged tired smiles and Dem went to get Julia, wrapped in a robe. "There's a love..." said Prudie as she handed Julia over to Demelza. "You settle yerself. There be some apple cake when ee be ready for it." Dem sighed. "Thank you, Prudie." Dem ate for England these days. She was still slender. The bit of weight she put on from carrying Julia evaporated as she nursed her. Julia, knowing that luncheon was now available, wasted no time in drinking her fill. Dem sat back in the armchair, covered by a quilt to help avoid getting milk on it, and fell into the strange hypnotism of nursing Julia. The tug of Julia's mouth had hurt at first. Dem was a little afraid in the beginning for the pinch of pain she'd felt as Julia rooted and took hold of her was horrible. Her nipples hurt and the milk had come in so fast, her breasts hurt as well. But that time had passed. Nursing Julia was a pleasure for Julia was fed and the strange surge of milk leaving her body, draining forward, left Dem suspended in a state of contentment. She looked to Ross, utterly knackered in their bed and smiled. She would have her tea and apple cake without him.

Ross felt sheepish about going to London, but duty called. Resurgam was scheduled to have new promotional photos taken and there were decisions to be made about what they would do next. He'd enjoyed being at Nampara with his new daughter, but he'd be lying if he didn't relish having proper sleep. Ross felt a bit guilty over it too. Dem was forever in the front line. He was happy to be her second in command but it was Dem who put every ounce of herself into Julia's care. He was in awe of it sometimes, the bond between Dem and Julia. He sat outside of it, as much as he loved both of them. They were linked and he could witness the bond but not enter it. It was like a miracle. They made another person...He had his own bond with Julia, his own secret life and secret dreams. It gave him happiness to think on it. His little girl. Ross had grown up with cousins and enjoyed their friendship. He knew he was not the only Poldark but after the death of his younger brother, Ross felt he had been cleaved of the right to feel the closeness of being a sibling, denied the happiness of being 'his sort' of Poldark. After the death of his mother, there was only he and his father left. After his father died, Ross was distraught enough in his loneliness to turn to heroin, trying to stuff down his immense sadness of being 'the last Nampara Poldark standing'. His little family was a balm on that pain. Julia and Ross were a pair now. Two proper Poldarks together. His love for Julia was primal. He curled up to sleep in the London flat and fell asleep thinking happy thoughts and dreaming happy dreams for his daughter. He and Dem would look after her and give her siblings and he would do everything he could to keep her free of the sadness that shadowed his own life. His children, Julia first, would give him the love and security of having his own family. Security he had craved for most of his life.

"There he is! What's up, Daddy-o!" said Ned as he and Dwight waved to Ross as he approached. It was a wonder what a decent night's sleep could do. Ross felt very much himself again. Dwight and Ned gave him their congratulations and the photo shoot went well for they were all relaxed and in a good mood. One of the most republished Resurgam pictures came from this session. The one with Ned, leaning back against a lamp post, flanked by Dwight and Ross that happened to catch a flock of birds in flight in the sky behind them. They went to have a meal afterwards. Ross was circumspect about the effort it took to look after a newborn. 'No point in scaring them' thought Ross. Ned and Dwight promised they would visit Dem and the baby at Nampara soon and they parted. They would tour in a few months, but stay in the U.K. They would be close to home this time.

Dem was still convalescing but she was able to receive visitors in the parlor, tucked up on the sofa with Julia nearby in a carry cot. Verity came to visit, loaded down with masses of adorable baby clothes, and admired Julia who slept, good as gold, when visitors came to call. "Demelza, she's beautiful!" gushed Verity. "She's a picture now, "laughed Dem. "You wouldn't believe how loud she can be!" Dem looked fondly upon Julia. Verity could see that she was happy. "How do you feel?" Verity was curious to know. She and Andrew had been dating since Ross and Dem got married and Verity had a suspicion that she may follow suit. Dem hesitated. Giving birth was the most pain she'd ever felt, her sleep was disrupted to the point of lunacy and breastfeeding had been quite hard going at first..."Oh, Verity, I feel wonderful! Motherhood is wonderful!" And it wasn't, any bit of it, a lie.

Julia, a stern task mistress, was very cross at being left in her crib when the arms of her parents were clearly preferable. Ross scooped her up, in his pajama bottoms-he'd learnt the hard way that it spared laundry to keep his pajama shirt off-began waltzing her about the hallway rather than pacing the bedroom. She enjoyed the closeness and was content to coo and babble a stream of encouragement to him rather than sleep as she lay against Ross' chest. It was difficult to maintain his grievance with her when Julia was this happy. Her hours were upside down. Perhaps it was hereditary, they kept strange hours siring her. Dem popped her head around the bedroom door. As adorable as it was to see Ross partner their daughter, she would rather compel her to sleep. They exchanged the smiles of two people who would do anything to go back to sleep. "Here, let me have her. You'll keep her awake dancing around like that." He handed Julia to Dem, but not before waltzing both of his ladies a step or two more. He kissed Julia's head and kissed Dem's cheek. "I'll be back in a moment..." Ross went downstairs. Dem stayed in the bedroom, rubbing Julia's back, pacing the smaller confines of their room. Dem murmured encouragement that the baby should sleep even as Julia kept up a steady stream of encouragement that Dem continue to entertain her. Ross returned with his black Gibson and sat at the head of the bed. He started playing Pachelbel's Canon, very slowly, drawn out and with an edge of melancholy in it for all it was beautiful. Dem set the gentle stroke of her hand on Julia's back in time with Ross' playing, relishing Julia's sweet, milky breath and warmth as she curled her fingers around Dem's shoulder. She would be forgiven for disrupting their night once more. Ross and Dem would grumble but always stopped short of leaving their annoyance at the feet of their charge. Julia tempered her demands with her love for them, a wide eyed, gurgling appreciation for these two obedient servants who anticipated her every need and gave her all the warmth and food and love she required. She had trained them well.

Julia blinked slowly, trying to focus on the sound of the guitar, yawned and closed her eyes. She fell silent. There was only the soft press of her cheek and quiet rasp of breath as she, finally, fell asleep. Dem raised her eyebrow to Ross as she turned to show him Julia had succumbed to sleep. Ross raised his eyebrow back and then, to be cheeky, started playing 'Something' by The Beatles, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth as Dem glared at him, briefly. They chuckled, softly. They'd thwarted Julia's sleep more than once with ill timed laughter between them. Dem lay Julia back in the crib and joined Ross who'd set his guitar to the side on the floor. He settled around her, let her curl against him and put an arm around her. They lay quiet, relieved to be able to sleep. The pillows were that much softer, the warmth of their bodies that much more of a comfort, when one was as tired as they were. It was a little over a year since Demelza had played 'Something' to Ross, on a restless June night and set the events into motion that gave them their daughter. Gave them the right to sink into each other's warmth and love each other, enjoy the giving and receiving of love. They had been sleepless that night too. They might have remarked upon that fact had they not fallen into a very deep, very sweet slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Golden Slumbers, The Beatles 1969


	9. Groovin' (On A Sunday Afternoon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> En Famille, August 1969

I. My Girl 

Francis, in a light blue polo shirt, dark trousers and brown suede loafers, drove to Nampara with a lemon cake, baked by Mrs. Tabb, that he knew Ross favored. Geoffrey Charles sat, preternaturally still in a jaunty sailor suit, between Verity in an emerald green shift dress with false pocket flaps sewn on the front. Elizabeth sat to his other side in pink Capri pants and a crisp, white button down shirt, letting her hand gently stroke Geoffrey's hair as she watched Nampara come into view-the modest stone farmhouse that mirrored the individuality of its owners, their cousins, Ross and Demelza.  
They parked and disembarked, both Verity and Elizabeth wore sunglasses and white plimsolls. Verity's were a cat's eye shape and Elizabeth's a larger, rounder style. They found the Nampara cousins not at home but already awaiting them outside. "They be by the orchard." said Prudie as she shaded her eyes with her one hand, watching Jud in the distance, pruning back some bushes, rather than paying much mind to the guests. Francis had not been to Nampara for some time but he and Verity, unthinkingly, turned to the orchard's direction and walked there. The ingrained memories of their childhood, at once, guided their steps. Elizabeth held the cake and Francis put Geoffrey on his shoulders. The day was fine with strands of bright, white clouds in the blue sky and everything about them green and fresh smelling. Verity held two plaid rugs, folded one on top of the other, to sit on, and they came upon their hosts at the mouth of the apple grove. The sunlight touched the edge of their plaid blanket and then turned to sun dappled shade over them all with the shadows of the trees, waving gently in the breeze. Ross lay stretched across the blanket. He had on a dark green tee shirt with odd bursts of white in random places on it, a tie dye shirt, and blue jeans. He had Julia on his lap, holding her hands in his and letting her lay against one of his legs, hitched up like a little chair for her. Dem sat across from them by the empty carry cot, playing a guitar with mother of pearl flowers that glistened under her quick moving fingers. She wore a loose, cotton dress, white with flowered embroidery around the collar and cuffs with a deep v neck. A small placket of tiny shell buttons was just visible behind the guitar. Her long legs jutted out from beneath the instrument. His canvas shoes and her leather sandals lay in a jumble, off to the side, next to the empty basket that ferried the picnic fare. On the blanket sat a large square tin with its lid on, a plate of sandwiches with a wire mesh cover over them, being marauded by two bees. A sweating pitcher of lemonade, with a bee who met its reward floating on the surface, on a tray with glass tumblers waiting at attention. There was a platter of grapes and apples and an open tin filled with scones with a pot of jam set inside with them. Julia gave the approaching guests an encouraging smile. Seeing her smile widen, Ross jutted his chin to look at them arrive, his face upside down to them. "They're here!" Ross said, still smiling up at them. Dem stopped playing and waved. It would be sensible to stand to greet them, but Julia was comfortable and it was a picnic after all...  
They came nearer. Rather than the Poldark in him, stamped as clearly on him as Verity and Francis, something about Ross' dark curls of hair spread about, his face tilted the wrong way round at them, one saw what Vennor had gotten in him. Verity and Francis were struck by a subtle look of Aunt Grace in Ross they had not considered before. Verity hurried ahead, set the rugs down and came to kneel by Ross and smiled at Julia who laughed her greeting. Verity thought of the dinky, plastic bower birds on their wedding cake. Ross and Dem and their little girl in their own bower-shaded by fruit trees and carpeted with bluebells beyond the spread rug. Francis let Geoffrey Charles down who immediately went to hold Elizabeth's leg. Elizabeth smiled down at him with affection. She looked up and smiled the same smile to Ross and Dem though, inwardly, she remained surprised at her hosts. She still could not understand why they were content to slum about like raggamuffins. The baby, in a little blue flowered frock with matching bloomers to cover her nappy-and that a gift from Verity-looked better dressed than her parents.  
Verity pushed her sunglasses up into her hair, like an Alice band, and lifted Julia off of Ross' lap. This allowed Ross to sit up and greet his guests as verity snuggled the child who was irresistibly friendly. "She likes you." said Ross fondly. Who would not like Verity? Her calm, loving manner shone from her. "Hello Francis! Elizabeth! And Geoffrey!" At this, Geoffrey gave a smile of his own, though still clinging to his mother like a limpet. Ross, startling the Trenwith Poldarks with his good mood, crouched down to Geoffrey Charles' level and asked, "May I introduce you to your cousin, Julia?" The little boy nodded and Ross led him by the hand to Verity's side, taking a glance at Dem who smiled prettily at them all. Dem set the guitar aside, stood, and went to thank and accept the cake from Elizabeth. They gave each other the fond, placid gaze of two women who agreed to be the good host and the good guest. Francis kissed Dem's cheek and smiled warmly. Ross was happier than he'd ever seen him and he believed Dem to be the agent of that happiness. "Hello, Dem" She smiled back. "Hello! Let's get your blankets settled." She and Francis picked up the rugs that Verity had set down and shook them out to lay with their own. Geoffrey Charles and Julia smiled at each other and Julia grabbed his nose which Geoffrey found funny. They laughed together at this very rich joke, to Elizabeth's private relief. Geoffrey could be so sensitive sometimes. She was pleased he didn't sulk or grumble over it. She was charmed, they were very cute together. She marveled at Ross' kind introduction and gentle manner with the children. Ross was a fount of surprises. "Would you like to hold Julia, Elizabeth?" asked Dem. "Yes! I've been looking forward to it all morning, she's a darling!" Elizabeth, expertly, picked up Julia from Verity and dandled her with the sweetness and sparkle eyed interest of a person who genuinely likes babies. Ross smiled up at them, still kneeling by Verity and Geoffrey. Julia blinked happily at her. "She looks very much like Dem." said Elizabeth, "Though she has your eyes, Ross." He smiled wider. Francis and Dem looked briefly at each other and felt the subtle acknowledgement, the sudden sympathy for each other, that their roles as spouses were, perhaps, quite similar. The seasick feeling of Elizabeth and Ross interacting with each other. Not wanting to read more into them but helpless to stop. Verity looked between them all. 'Isn't life complicated?' she thought. Dem came to sit with Verity as she lifted the lid from the square tin. "We have sausage rolls!" There was a murmur of approval from the assembled guests. Elizabeth restored Julia to Ross and they began the meal. The wind was soft, the rustle of leaves, a gentle background and they supped, and talked and, once the bee was fished out of the pitcher, drank.

II. Tell Mama

By the time they'd finished, Julia was asleep in the carry cot and most everything was eaten up. "Shall we go inside for cake? We have no tea out here." asked Demelza. This was seen to be a good idea. With so many helping hands, their picnic was broken up and carried away in a snap. Dem carried her twelve string, Ross carried Julia, still sleeping prettily, and the others brought the rest of the odds and ends with Geoffrey Charles bearing a folded rug as if he was charged with very important work. They had cake in the parlor. Ross let Francis consult the record collection and 'Time Out' by the Dave Brubeck Quartet was chosen to play at a low volume as they enjoyed their tea and cake and conversation. Afterward, Ross and Francis sat on the pews, talking of this and talking of that as Geoffrey Charles dozed against Francis' side. The ladies sat on the sofa with Julia set by Dem. Elizabeth smiled, indulgently. "You should wake her soon or she'll not sleep the night." Dem demurred. She knew she and Ross had been a bit foolish about leaving Julia resting in the afternoon and paying for it at night. She was hesitant, she'd have to nur..."Oh!" Dem blinked with surprise as wet marks appeared on her front. Milk had come forward of its own accord, soaking two little circles on the blouse of her cotton dress. They soon widened and the fabric went transparent enough to show her nipples clearly. "I should take her up, I think." Dem murmured. Ross saw her blush crimson but he couldn't help finding it sweet. Of course, that happening in front of guests was an embarrassment to her, but she nourished Julia and had a mother's love for their daughter and it charmed him. He got up to give her a napkin but Elizabeth beat him to it. She deftly plucked a clean nappy from the foot of the carry cot, without waking Julia, shook it open and gently draped it across Dem so she was covered up. Dem held it to herself with her hand. "Thank you." Dem said quietly. She was mortified. That this should happen, and in front of Elizabeth! But Elizabeth had one true calling in her life and that was her mother love for her son. It loomed the largest and was the most real and unadorned aspect of her life. It was the one thing in opposition to all Elizabeth's calculated and performance based behavior. She saw the mother in Dem and it was a condition this cultured and occasionally haughty woman could sympathize with. Though performance returned-the tilt of her head, letting her hair fall just so-her warm countenance when she spoke was pure. She squeezed Dem's free hand and looked directly into her eyes. "A mother's love surpasses all other loves." and gave her hand a gentle pat to reassure her that, in this at least, Elizabeth had not considered Dem common, or vulgar or even a homeless busker. In this, at least, they were equals.  
The Trenwith Poldarks took their leave. Geoffrey woke up and said a cheerful goodbye to uncle Ross and Aunt Dem. They thanked Ross and Dem for their lovely afternoon. Verity whispered "We had a lovely day, thank you, Demelza." and a gentle smile to let Dem know that her milk making a show hadn't been a problem. Verity and Elizabeth kissed Dem goodbye and she went upstairs to change clothes and feed her daughter. Ross saw them to the car. He hugged Verity, took Elizabeth's hand and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek and leaned into the window of the car to say goodbye to Francis, and to Geoffrey once more who bounced about in the back seat before settling once more to a quiet countenance. Francis grinned at Ross. It had been a lovely day."Thank you, Ross. Give Dem and Julia another hug and a kiss from us." "I will." smiled Ross. "We should do this more often..." said Francis to everyone and no one in particular.

III. I Was Made To Love Her

Dem was nursing Julia in the armchair of their bedroom. She wore a long denim skirt and one of Ross' shirts, unbuttoned, to feed her. Ross leaned against the door frame and smiled at them. They were beautiful. Dem looked up and whimpered, "Oh, Ross! I could just die!" He smiled warmly. "They understood, Dem. No one minded or thought less of you. I've been charged with the responsibility to give you and Julia an extra hug and an extra kiss!" She smiled but was not quite relieved of her embarrassment."Oh Ross..." He sat at the foot of their bed. "They saw Julia's mama, and my wife, and our Dem. We're family, Dem. Francis and Elizabeth like you, as Verity likes you." Ross let her be. Persuading Dem out of her occasional periods of self doubt was a delicate enterprise. If he continued it would fret her more. "How is she?" Dem smiled. "Good as gold! She was so sweet with them all today!" Ross smiled fondly. "Yes, she had a smile for everyone." They sat quiet as Julia finished and babbled her own brief accounting of the enjoyment of the day as Dem gently patted her back, for wind, and crossed the room to change her nappy. Julia babbled to Ross over Dem's shoulder before she was laid down for the diaper and Ross chuckled, wondering if Julia was convinced they understood her. She conversed with him in a series of giggles as if she did. "You were a triumph, Julia! You will have all of Cornwall at your command, I'm sure!" Dem laughed as she deftly changed the soiled diaper. She sighed. "Elizabeth was right, though. We have to stop letting her sleep away the afternoon if we're ever going to get her to sleep the night." Ross sighed. "I expect so, it's such a relief when she sleeps, I don't really consider that we pay for it later." He smiled. "We'll, all three of us together, learn to make it work.  
Julia was tidy and fed. The late afternoon had become evening. Still content from gorging on sausage rolls and lemon cake, they settled for a bit of soup rather than a proper dinner. The purplish pink of sunset greeted them as Ross and Dem brought Julia out to sit with them in the lengthening shadows of the garden. Ross sat with Julia on his knee and Dem played her guitar with Garrick resting his head on her outstretched legs as she sat on a blanket next to Ross' chair. "The lemon cake was that good! Do you think Elizabeth would give me the recipe?" Ross let Julia clutch his forefinger. "I expect it's Mrs. Tabb's recipe." Dem blinked from the recognition that this was probably true. "They are quite grand at Trenwith..." she said, more to herself than to Ross. Ross lifted Julia up and rubbed their noses together, making Julia laugh and kick out with her feet before he set her back in his lap. "Yes, Trenwith was built from Grambler Mine, the main workings around here, long ago. Nampara was built from Wheal Grace." He chuckled, directing his talk to Julia, "Ours was quite a little mine..." Julia lay in Ross' lap, still in conversation with her papa. Dem strummed in a pleasant way, snatches of songs, chords that sounded pretty, pottering on a warm summer evening. Garrick, having seen a rabbit some yards away got up to chase it. Ross passed Julia to Dem, still quite chatty and awake. Ross brought Dem's twelve string indoors. They spent time in the parlor. Ross played some of the Motown and Tamla records he'd bought in the States. The rich green smells of a summer night and the 'Sound of Young America' mixed with the contentment of having had such a pleasant day with his family. Garrick, having tuckered himself out from rabbit chasing, curled up to sleep by the unlit fireplace. Ross smiled up at Dem on the sofa, holding Julia who struggled to watch her papa as her eyes blinked to sleep. He sat on the floor in the midst of album covers and paper wrapped 45s, scattered about. "She's almost out..." he said. Dem smiled. "I'll lay her down." A suggestive flutter of her eyelashes. "I'm not quite tired..." Ross started gathering up the records from the floor. He pursed his lips with a knowing look. "Is that so?" She stood, settling Julia at her shoulder. "Ais." They smiled at each other as Dem left the parlor. Ross tided his records and turned off the stereo system, turned out the lights. And the Nampara Poldarks retired for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Groovin' (On A Sunday Afternoon), The Rascals 1967
> 
> My Girl, The Temptations 1964
> 
> Tell Mama, Janis Joplin 1971
> 
> I Was Made To love Her, Stevie Wonder 1967
> 
> This story will update less frequently, but there's got to be other things two cute hippies and a cute baby get up to... Why Don't We Do It In The Road Poldark will return...


	10. Sunshine Of Your Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 1968, The novelty has not worn off.

I. Brand New Key

After a week of this lunacy, the tenor of their laughter should have been warning enough, but Prudie gave it little thought as she entered the parlor. "My ivers!" She shrieked and covered her eyes with the dust cloth she was holding as Ross and Dem, hurriedly, tried to pull Ross' jeans back up and Dem's skirt back down. Their position on the sofa, Dem's knickers lying, bold as brass, on the carpet and Ross' indelicate exposure left little to the imagination.  
"ROSSVENNORPOLDARK! I ain't seen yer bum since ee be a little'un and I don't care to see it now! Take that gurl to yer bed, for pity's sake! The pair of ee 'ave gone 'alf saved!"  
She flounced off, in a huff, dimly aware of Ross and Dem giggling as they said, "Sorry, Prudie!" Dem lay on her back, still giggling. "Half saved?" Ross lay his forehead on her stomach. Dem could feel his huff of a laugh as he sat up. "She said we've gone crazy..." He chuckled as he handed her underwear back to her. "...I suppose she's right!" Dem handed them back, coquettishly. "Oh?" Ross raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking to be dressed or undressed?" She sat up and the smile between them was very suggestive. "We've been sent to your room for being naughty." Dem blinked, innocently. Ross smirked as he followed Dem upstairs. "The punishment fits the crime," he said, "but I don't think we are showing quite enough remorse..."

Some hours later (for a nap was deemed necessary) Ross and Dem, somewhat contrite, dared to show their faces for tea. Jud looked over his newspaper at them both, unsmiling. "It be high tide?" he asked Ross. Ross looked at Jud, confused. "High tide?" Jud gave a wry smile. "Aye, Prudie d'say she see'd a full moon afore now!" Ross scrunched his eyes shut as he, Dem and Jud laughed in earnest. Prudie was not amused and Ross' 'bashful little boy' smile served to irritate her more. She rolled her eyes, annoyed to have to scold them for acting so simple. "You lot need to act respectable fer all it be a bloody new toy!" She crossed her arms, glowered at them and turned to Ross. "She ain't got no mothur to tell 'er different! Ee neither, come to that!" Ross and Dem sobered a little at that. Prudie continued. "Ee can 'ave yer carryin' on, but ee's got to be about it fittyways!"  
"Yes, Prudie." they both murmured, suitably chastened. Shielded from their view by his newspaper, Jud smiled at Prudie and winked. She smirked, with a little flush of remembrance, they had been young once too... She sighed. "I s'pose ee want yer tea if ee can pull yerselves away from each other fer two minutes!"

They had their tea in companionable silence. Ross and Dem were drinking their tea and eating their biscuits exchanging sly, smitten smiles. Prudie was still a little cross but chose to keep the peace. Jud cleared his throat and turned to Dem. "Ee did ought see t' Garrick. 'E bin whinin' earlier." Dem sat up with a start. "Oh! We didn't have our walk this morning!" She drank down her tea, gave Ross a brief peck of a kiss on the top of his head that made him laugh and Prudie frown. Dem rushed off to make things up to her oldest friend. After she disappeared around the kitchen door, Jud looked to Prudie who topped off Ross and Jud's cups with more tea and set the pot down in a deliberately quiet manner. Ross looked from one to the other. He'd grown up with them long enough to know he was about to receive a dressing down.

II. Straighten Up And Fly Right

Prudie took a sip of tea and spoke to Ross in seriousness. "Ee need to look after Dem proper..." Ross nodded. "Yes, Prudie." she scowled, for she had not finished. "Ee knows full well what folk d'say 'bout you two round 'ere." Ross looked from her to Jud and then to the cup in his hands. "Yes, Prudie." The entire county tittered over Ross bringing an underage girl to Nampara and the gossip never left them. Prudie looked at him, sternly. "It won't do. Ee needs to be wed."  
Jud and Prudie were not prepared for Ross to laugh, but he did so, merrily, and they were taken aback and offended. Prudie was incensed. "'Ere! Ee think it be a lark?!" Ross tried to school his face into seriousness. "Prudie..." She was angry now. "It be all well n' good fer ee, eh? Takin' yer pleasure wi' the gurl?!" "Prudie..." Ross tried again. "Don't ee 'Prudie' me! You lot are gonna carry on til she be up the spout! Dem don't deserve bein' shamed by we!" Ross tried again with an ingratiating look that she still saw as dismissive of her concerns. "Prudie..." She continued. "If n' ee get 'er in the family way wi' no ring, it won't just be down to ee!" She pointed between herself and Jud who looked on at this exchange with growing concern. 'Ross d'know betterer than tha!', thought Jud. Prudie continued, indignant. "We'd look a right pair o' villains if Dem be livin' 'ere all this time an' end up in trouble! 'Alf them gossips be thinkin' ee bin carryin' on wi' 'er all this time, under our noses like we be blind! Or worse, tha we don't care a curse for the gurl!" Ross closed his eyes and tried again. "Prudie..." "Wha?" she barked, "What ee 'ave to say fer yerself?! I never thought I'd see the day when..." Ross was sharp with her now. If she finished the rest of that sentence as he feared-'when you would act like your father'-he'd not keep his temper and Prudie was only trying to help.  
"PRUDIE!"  
The kitchen was silent enough now that they could hear the ticking of the kitchen clock and Garrick barking, outside, as he played with Dem, like any other time over these last four years. Ross ducked his chin and smiled. Dem was so young when he brought her here and he had no earthly clue it would come to this when he did, but Ross knew his responsibility to her. He softened his voice as he reached across the table and took Prudie's hand in his. Her eyes went wide at this gesture as did Jud's. Ross looked from one to the other. They had looked after him all his life as each of his family members disappeared, one by one. He wanted them to know, for all his drugs taking and waywardness in his life, the Paynters had raised him right, somehow. Ross looked at Prudie with affection. "I have not bought Dem her ring, but I did ask her to marry me and she agreed."

III. One Rainy Wish

She had kissed his scar, and Ross flushed at the pleasure of the intimacy of it. He made a careful study of all the colors in her eyes, and Dem's heart swelled as she watched his interest. They lay, near motionless, in Ross' bed as the rain pattered against the windows on this, the third night she spent in Ross' bed after their first night, in the Long Field. Dem had dared and Ross had taken her up on it. She was his woman... When he first made love to her, out of doors, in the tall grass, Ross whispered her name like a chant or a prayer. There was a new sound in his voice that she recognized as his love for her, his need of her, and she wondered if the pleasure of it might kill her, but what a wonderful way to go...The newness of it gave way to the anticipation of knowing. Knowing what he felt like, knowing what he tasted like, knowing that he would groan with pleasure or laugh as they played their lover's games. She was learning, not unlike her apprenticeship with the guitar, all the ways they could give each other pleasure and in this quiet moment they had achieved a certain equality. He was her man. "Folk won't understand, I don't rightly understand..." she said, drowsily. "What?" Ross asked as he shifted a little. The warmth between them threw a delicious scent forward that they recognized as their combined love for each other. They breathed it in like a restorative. "How it came to happen. This. We..." he rested his palm on her hip and chuckled. "You aren't meant to understand, you're meant to accept it as a fact of life." He smiled and lay on his back. Dem giggled and lay facing him, lay against his chest and draped a lazy leg over his thigh. He brought his arms around her and they enjoyed the closeness of the embrace. Ross sighed, in contentment and consternation. They'd been a tearaway and a slag, as far as many in the community chose to see them, for four years and now they'd gone and proved all those whispering shrews right...Ross Poldark was fucking his ward...That's all people would chose to see. They thought it of them anyway, even as they lived in innocence for four years...they'd grown up together for four years... They'd grown, one into the other, for four years. Dem grew up free of her father's abuse and Ross turned his back on his dependence on heroin. They had the sort of friendship that could only turn towards love, Ross supposed. They had saved each other and that was a powerful bond...Those around here thought Ross was no better than he ought to be, for he was Joshua Poldark's son. Papa was as bad behaved with women as the gossips said. Ross knew that and it was his cross to bear around here...But Joshua never brought women to Nampara. He chased after them away from his hearth. This bed had only been Grace's bed and Papa slept in it alone after her death. It was enshrined as the the bed of his dearest love, his late wife and Joshua would not besmirch it by having someone else in it. For all his antics, he remained true to Grace in that regard...Ross lazily stroked Dem's back and smiled as she purred a little. This was Dem's bed now..."Dem?" She lifted her chin and smiled. "Yes?' He smiled into her eyes. "Demelza Carne?" he asked. Dem's eyebrows raised. Ross looked upon her with warm, loving eyes. "Demelza Carne, will you marry me?" She looked like a startled fawn. Her mouth fell open and her eyes widened, briefly. A smile blossomed between them. She blinked and closed her mouth. She smiled and hid her face against his chest. 'Ross wants to wed me!' she thought. She held that thought, clutched at it, greedily in some ways. That Ross loved her enough to want to marry her made every slight and insult she bore over the last four years nullified. She was never a slut. She was never a slag, but she shouldered those insults because Ross was her friend and she knew that people had small minds. Every person in this crazy, gossipy place would know that she was Ross' wife, his proper wife and it charmed her. She smiled at him and Ross felt her love as if the sun had chosen to shine on him alone. He caught his breath in the strength of it. "Ais, Ross," she whispered. "I will marry you, Ross Poldark!"  
And she kissed her love, and he kissed his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunshine Of your Love, Cream 1967
> 
> Brand New Key, Melanie 1971
> 
> Straighten Up And Fly Right, The Andrew Sisters 1944
> 
> One Rainy Wish, Jimi Hendrix 1967
> 
> up the spout/in the family way/in trouble: Pregnant 
> 
> tearaway: troublemaker, unruly


	11. Kooks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August 1969

There were days when the water churned. Vicious, punishing waves that could knock a person over. But there were also soft summer days when the waters were calm and deep blue, warmed and glittered by the sun. This August day was such a one. Ross and Dem, bearing large towels and Julia's carry cot, brought their daughter to an outcropping of rock that gave strong shade and spent the morning enjoying the weather, the water and each other's company. Dem wore a red bikini under a linen peasant blouse with a wide straw hat. Ross wore a white tee shirt and blue swim trunks with two bands of white trim sewn down each side. They both wore decrepit plimsolls-"beach only" footwear with no laces in them- and Julia was just in a diaper, in a blue flowered cover and a little white sunbonnet made of eyelet trimmed cotton.  
They set the carry cot in the shade but lay their towels in the sun. Dem's hat shaded the baby as she nursed her and the warmth of the day felt lovely. Ross took off his shirt, made his way down the rocks and small cliffs and jumped into the water. Dem watched him swimming as Julia drank her fill. If Julia slept, Dem would wet her feet a bit. She was not ready to swim as of yet. If she remained awake, they would take turns. Ross dove under the water and popped back up, shaking his hair about. He looked to Dem who waved to him with Julia in the crook of her arm. He grinned and disappeared under the water again. Dem laughed. Ross had grown up like a merman. Nampara Cove had been private, Poldark land for centuries and he grew up with a marvelous freedom within it. Stretches of unspoiled, beautiful coast land, right outside his back door, so to speak. Joshua was the second son of the Poldark clan and did not have the monetary advantages of his brother, Charles, but he, as Ross after him, rebuffed and ignored all offers-high value offers-to purchase the land. Nampara's beach was beyond price. It was as much of a family legacy as Joshua's side was allowed. They kept possession of it and were grateful for it.  
Julia's mouth popped off in the abrupt release of a snoring baby. She put her in the cot, nestled safe at the foot of the rock and took off her bikini top that drooped around her waist. She'd not bother with it. That was another legacy of having such a wide buffer between themselves and the outside world. Ross and Dem had no qualms, at all, wandering about half dressed, and losing articles of clothing to the point of being entirely nude, sometimes, out of doors. Dem climbed down, into the little pool of the sea, a small whorl of the sea that made for a pretty swimming hole. She sat on a wide, flat rock and let her feet dangle in the water. Ross had swum further out but he saw her and headed back. He looked up at her as he climbed halfway out. She sat, radiant, in a straw hat, smiling down at him, her belly bearing a slight trace of Julia's former home over the bikini bottoms and her breasts, gloriously plump from nursing the baby and looking quite enticing all round.  
"You look like a mermaid, sitting up there!" smiled Ross, shaking water from his hair and looking up at her adoringly. Dem laughed. "I was waiting on one of those mermen to come along and give me a kiss!" He came to sit next to her, bringing a fair bit of water with him that spread on the rock as he sat. "I should get my dibs in, then," said Ross, "I wouldn't want some merman to come and lure you away!" She held her hat to her head with one hand and smiled into Ross' kiss. It tasted of the sea, accompanied by the gentle thwack of wet strands of his hair, on her forehead and cheeks, as he leaned in. The sun sparkled on the water and warmed the rock, for all it was wetted, the soft press of his nose against hers brought her a shiver of happiness as they deepened the kiss. She closed her eyes and reciprocated. They blinked themselves apart and smiled. "I kiss at least as well as a merman!" Ross said with a proud toss of his hair. "Ais." she said.

He helped her up and they checked on Julia, still shaded, still sleeping. They brought their towels, warmed from the sun, closer to her, in the shade and lay together, content. Ross lay on his back and watched the wisps of clouds dancing across the morning sky. Dem lay near, her breathing steady and soft as she dozed and Julia napped, as he had done, as his brother, Claude, had done and the passel of siblings Ross intended for Julia would do-safe in the lee of the cliff-and they would all grow to claim their birthright, running, pell-mell, to enjoy the sea out the back door of Nampara. Ross found that helping to care for a newborn was as tough as an army boot camp but it was worth it. Little enough effort to have what he craved. He and Dem would build the sort of family they had both been denied. As the clouds drifted lazily past in the sky, Ross daydreamed of picnics and Christmas, grand summer parties, outside in the warmth of the sun and, later, in the summer dusk, with sing songs round the bonfire and their kids running about, well loved, well fed and happy in their play over the land where he and Dem had first made love. A little army of Nampara Poldarks over which he would dote and smile over them all like a proper Papa, with Dem, serene and wonderful, by his side...

They woke to Julia's wail of protest from the cot. Their feet were now in sun. Julia remained in shade but there was less of it as the sun changed position in the sky. The sand had dried upon their feet and roughened the touch of their legs and toes as they woke, drowsy shifts of their legs and feet, tangled together as they woke, in a way that was not unpleasant. Ross pulled his shirt back on and lifted Julia up, only to receive a huge, warmed streak of spit up milk down his front. "Ugh!" he chuckled, "Julia! That's a fine how do you do!" Dem laughed as she got her blouse back on and set the cot over her arm like a basket, the top of her swimsuit dangling from her wrist. She gathered their towels and they scrunched their feet back into their shoes. Ross ferried Julia against him, as he was already milky, and cooed a steady stream of encouraging patter as she groused and fussed in his arms. Dem laid the towels over the stone wall to dry and be dealt with later. They kicked off the plimsolls, batted their feet clean on the grass as best they could, and Dem took Julia to tend and tidy her upstairs. Ross went into the parlor, briefly, to leave the carry cot there. He stood and looked down himself. He could still feel the wet mark of milk on his shirt, now cold. He smirked and made to take his shirt off, had it half off, when he heard an enraptured shriek, in triplicate. Ross struggled his head back into the shirt as he brought his arms back down. He blinked in surprise at three young girls. The one at the center with her nose pressed to the glass, stock still, with her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Her companions on either side of her hopping up and down in excitement. He looked at them, dumbfounded, as an older woman's voice was heard. "PORSCHEHELENAALICE! Get away from tha winda! Hie to tha door! Skulkin' about like a buncha peepers!" The three faces vanished so quickly, Ross might have dreamt them if the bell had not rung. Ross went into the hall and opened the door. There standing and fidgeting in their places were three girls- two of them in matching blue dresses with a short, pleated skirt, the girl in the center in a white tee shirt with fine pink and green stripes on it and a green skirt- all white knee socks and buckle shoes, clutching Resurgam albums in their arms the way a child might hold a doll, staring up adoringly at him. "Hello..." said Ross, wondering if seeing, and smelling, him covered in sand and spit up might cool their ardor. It did not. The woman, middle aged, in a plain, brown, housedress, with an abstract pattern, a bit like radio wave diagrams on it, said,  
"Beggin' yer pardon, sur. These gurls was hoping you'd sign their platters." She looked down over them all. "Where's yer manners?!"  
To a girl, they all said, "Hello, Mr. Poldark!"  
Ross smiled as the woman harrumphed. Clearly she had been dragged into this escapade by her charges. The least he could do is offer her tea...  
"Good day, ladies," Ross smiled. "I'd be happy to but, as you can see, my daughter has marked me. If you wouldn't mind waiting in the parlor, I'll be with you directly." The girls squealed with delight and piled into the hall. He installed them on the right hand pew and bade their minder to sit on the sofa facing the hearth. "I'll be back in a moment..." As he went into the hall he could hear the woman hiss, "DO NA TOUCH NOTHIN'" Ross bit down on a laugh as he went upstairs. He found Dem tickling Julia as she lay on their bed in a pink cotton frock and matching bloomers. Ross looked askance at this. "I pray she has no more milk in her with you tickling her like that!" Julia, hiccuping a husky little laugh, hearing his voice, turned to smile at him, like a sunflower tracking the sun and Ross paused for a moment to smile back. "We have visitors..." Ross spoke to Dem as he crinkled his eyes at Julia. "Visitors?" Dem's eyebrows raised. Ross chuckled. "Yes. Three little girls, who don't seem to be local have cajoled their nursemaid into bringing them here to get their albums signed!" Dem laughed as Ross continued. "If you keep them occupied, I can make tea. I need to get cleaned up. I feel like I've been dragged through a hedge!" Dem nodded and took Julia to meet Ross young fans.

She turned into the parlor to see Garrick in his glory. Laying on his back with his right foot pitched up in the air, waggling and shivering with delight as all three girls scratched his belly by the hearth.  
"I see you've made friends with Garrick!" They all gasped. "It's Dem!" they oohed and aahhed and looked towards her wide eyed and awed as their minder rolled her eyes. "Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am," she began as she laid eyes on Julia and smiled ear to ear. "My word! Ain't she a sweetie?!" Dem smiled. "Thank you, This is our daughter, Julia." The girls came over all faint, looking up from the floor at Ross' wife-she looked just like her picture!-and their little baby... "Gurls!" They straightened up. "Stop yer moonin' and say how d'do, proper!" They did so. "Hello, Mrs. Poldark!" Dem smiled. This nurse and Prudie would get on like a house on fire, she thought. "Hello, girls. We were on the beach. Ross will be with us soon. Will you stay to tea, Mrs...?" "Atkins, ma'am. Aye, that would be grand, if it ain't too much trouble to ya." Dem sat with Mrs. Atkins and not too much time passed before Ross returned, restored to quick cleanliness and bearing a tray with the larger teapot and a packet of chocolate digestives. He placed it on the table, took Julia from Dem and switched places. Ross sat, now back to form in jeans and a clean shirt with his boots on. Dem went to get the cups and saucers. Ross Poldark sat next to Agnes with his baby in the crook of his arm while they played with his dog and Dem got the cups in. They would be queens of their school for a month, at least! Ross and Julia smiled, benevolently, at their guests who regaled them with the story of how they got here. Sisters, Porsche and Helena and Mrs. Atkins' daughter, Alice, had been waylaid in boring Cornwall for most of the summer as their father researched the differences in Cornish regional accents compared to other, West Country areas. A clerk at the record store, in Truro, mentioned that the Poldarks lived near Sawle On Grambler. After some argument,(for the girls swore blind that the Poldarks lived in Devon,) they bought albums in the shop and persuaded Agnes to drive all the way out here to get them autographed. Ross smiled at Mrs. Atkins, and she smiled back. She had been half afraid they'd stumble into a den of iniquity- all drugs and loose women, or a house full of kooks and hippies. The Poldarks were not proper, in that the fella had hair like a woman and looked as if someone had taken a meat hook to his face, but they were proper gentry for all their odd looks, polite as you like. Their babby was a darling. They were calm and friendly and gave the girls no reason to think they were being a nuisance. 

Dem returned and bade them to have tea. Mrs. Atkins herded them all into the hall bathroom to wash their hands as Ross and Dem exchanged a look of mirth. The girls were the youngest fans Ross had ever seen. They couldn't be more than twelve. Their wedding picture had plunked both of them into the teen magazines so there was a second layer of interest that differed from the older crowd Ross played to. The clubs and venues Resurgam played would never allow kids that age anywhere near. Julia blinked happily at the assembled guests from her mother's arms as Ross poured tea and they enjoyed it with two biscuits apiece.  
Tea drunk and records signed, they thanked Ross, waved goodbye to Julia, still good natured, in his arms and followed Mrs. Atkins and Dem to the front door. They were to go home to London in two days and managed to strike gold in an adventure to brag about once school resumed. As they walked to the car, Alice ran back to the front door. "Will you sign my record too?" Blinking up at Dem. Dem laughed. "I'm not part of the band!" she protested. Alice looked up at her, starry eyed. "No, but yer smashin'!" Dem smiled and signed the record. "Alice!" The girl gave a little hop from foot to foot. "Comin'!" Dem handed back the album. Alice turned to rush back to the others as Dem called after her, "How old are you?" Alice squeaked over her shoulder. "Ten!" And with that, she disappeared into the car and the autograph hunters left Nampara.

Dem went back to the parlor. Ross laid Julia on her back, on the sofa, playing with her fingers and toes as he murmured over her,  
"Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross  
To see a fine lady upon a white horse  
With rings on her fingers  
And bells on her toes  
She shall have music where ever she goes!"  
"Do you have bells on your toes, Julia...?" Ross made a careful examination of her feet as he gave each one a little peck of a kiss. He looked up at Dem as she came near and Julia brightened to see her as they both leaned over her. It was as if she had suddenly entered a strange tent, two happy faces, floating over her, and a curtain of hair on either side of her. "How is my darling?" asked Dem. "Which one?" joked Ross. He was rewarded with a wry smile as Dem sat up and said, "Those girls were ten!" Ross gave a chuckle. "I almost wished Prudie had been here today. Mrs. Atkins seemed quite like Prudie..."  
They sat in front of the house for a time. Ross and Dem ate simply on Saturdays, preferring to push the boat out for Sunday lunch, rather than gorge both weekend days. Julia dozed again and they had thinly sliced pork cutlets, warmed in gravy with mashed potatoes and mushrooms fried in butter with parsley crumbled over them. There was cake left from the week, but they were content to eat some apples out of hand and, later, more digestives and tea. They risked a bath-Julia often seemed to have a homing device that woke her the minute Dem stepped into the tub. Julia remained asleep and they sat quiet in the tub for a time. Resurgam would tour within the U.K., so they relished these quiet days, quiet times, stored them up to keep hold of when they were apart. The surprise of the autograph hunters aside, this day held the ordinary, commonplace pleasures they'd come to enjoy and the enjoyment that comes from having not very much to do, but have your favorite people about you as the days drift by.

When term time resumed in the autumn, Porsche, Helena and Alice had mixed success with the tale of their Nampara adventure. They had their albums for proof and taking tea with the Poldarks seemed reasonable. Their insistence that that they saw Ross Poldark taking his shirt off was rejected, out of hand, as a fib of the highest order. Clearly, that could not have happened...

And, as it happens, spare a thought for Helena. Unbeknownst to Helena, her daughter has listed her mother's first pressing, EMI, signed copy of Resurgam's second album, on Discogs, for forty pounds, under valuing it by, at least, thirty pounds.

Alice, who takes care to store her vinyl records in individual, protective plastic sleeves, safe from the effects of heat, sunlight and her own children, could realize as much as two hundred pounds for her album with Ross and Dem's signatures on it, far more if it fell into a bidding war. She wouldn't ever sell it, though. Alice still tells the story of getting it signed. It was a magical day...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kooks, David Bowie 1973
> 
> We bought a lot of things  
To keep you warm and dry  
And a funny old crib  
On which the paint won't dry  
I bought you a pair of shoes  
A trumpet you can blow  
And a book of rules  
On what to say to people  
When they pick on you  
'Cause if you stay with us  
You're gonna be pretty kooky, too  
Will you stay in our lovers' story?  
If you stay you won't be sorry  
'Cause we believe in you  
Soon you'll grow so take a chance  
With a couple of kooks  
Hung up on romancing


	12. Tea For Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can wind up the clock when I like. I can tease you and pull your hair, and shout, and sing if I want, an' play on the old spinet. I share your bed, and in the mornings when I wake I puff out my chest and think big thoughts." -Demelza Poldark, from Winston Graham's Ross Poldark
> 
> Dem sets Ross a challenge  
August 1968

The days were becoming unmoored from time. Ross and Dem lazed about in bed until two or three in the afternoon, or the reverse. They would retire to bed at three in the afternoon. They had their supper scandalously late, played guitar, bathed in the sea, and took walks be it night or day, these pleasantries interspersed with lovemaking, until they slept again, late in the night. It was Saturday and the house was silent. Ross awoke slowly. First, a hand ghosted his thigh and that gained his notice as he dozed. Second, a shiver of enjoyment as Dem's leg slid across his shin and his thigh, held there briefly before she captured him altogether with her leg. That was the sort of inducement that woke him up properly. "What time is it?" he yawned. "Ten!" said Dem, brightly. "Night or day?" teased Ross. Clearly it was morning. A pinch. A naughty sort of a pinch. Ross grinned. Dem was slowly becoming more bold as they maneuvered their lover's dance. It amused and aroused him in equal measure. "If you keep on like that, we won't have breakfast..."murmured Ross. "We could call it tea!" she teased. "Hmmuph..."Ross turned to face Dem and kissed her. There was a laziness between them rather than the need to sate lust. They had the soft, sleepy haze of the newlywed-sated yet needy too. Dem smiled. Ross smiled. What happened next was not romantic. "We should have splits for tea." murmured Ross as he curled into his pillow. He had, as one might imagine, exerted himself strenuously since their return to Nampara. In the time it took to snuggle closer to his pillow, Dem's brain went through a series of thought and calculation that would shame a military computer. Ross had spoken. As night follows day, there must be splits for tea...Prudie had left them clotted cream, but the Paynters were away. They had left the Poldarks to their honeymoon and would not return for a week. Thus, it fell to Dem to bake splits. She wrinkled her nose. She did not want to skivvy today. She did want a cream tea, though. There was a particularly nice crust on Prudie's cream -crystalline, pale, butter yellow, like the inside of a geode. She looked at Ross. A curl of his hair draped across his face. There was something a little angelic in his face's repose. Ross was falling back into the untroubled, contented sleep of someone who never had to play the kitchen maid. Why should he? He had Prudie and a dutiful wife. On the other hand, Dem was now in possession of a dutiful husband... She poked his arm with her finger and he smiled, eyes still closed. "Really?! You're making me splits?!" she said. Ross opened one eye, in reproach of her. This was enough like Garrick's behavior to make Dem laugh. "Me?!" He sounded offended and knit his brows. "Haven't I pleased you enough to make me splits?" Dem smiled, but she also knit her brows. "Haven't I pleased YOU enough to make ME splits?" Ross pursed his lips. He didn't laugh but he was amused. Dem was trying to rearrange the natural order of things. "I've never made them. Prudie's always done it before you came along..." Dem laughed and mimicked Prudie's voice to a disconcerting degree. "Ee be spoiled, Ross Vennor Poldark!" Ross ducked his head, blinked innocently at Dem, "Yes. Guilty as charged..." They shared an indulgent smile before Dem grinned a wicked grin. "You should make me splits!" she said. "I don't know how!" protested Ross, a little alarmed that batting his eyelashes didn't work. She laughed. "Then ee can read a recipe, ye daft article!" Ross looked horrified. Not only had Dem demanded he bake for their tea, her mimicry of Prudie was uncanny. They burst into laughter. Ross rolled his eyes. "Oh, fine! But don't complain if they end up hard as rocks or taste like dust!" Dem gave him a kiss on the nose. "There's nothing to it, Ross! I'm sure they'll be lovely!" Ross put the covers over his head in protest. She sighed and sat up, leaning back against the headboard. He peeked out, warily, from a teeny edge of the sheet. Dem had her nose upturned and her arms crossed. "Make me splits, my good man! I expect a fitty tea!" Ross uncovered his face and grinned. He wasn't going to get out of this. "Yes, madame." he smirked. They got dressed. Dem followed Ross downstairs to watch his first foray into baking. She watched him, admiring the view for he wore a plain tee shirt, once black but laundered enough to be grey and old jeans that had been cut down to shorts of a scandalous length that showed his legs to good effect. She went to the parlor to retrieve her new guitar and settled across the kitchen table to watch the proceedings.

"What do they mean, bloodheat?" Ross felt he was consulting some sort of spellbook rather than a cookery book. That sounded vaguely sinister.

"It means the milk should be warm, like your hand," smiled Dem. "If the milk is too hot, it will kill the yeast and they won't rise." she explained.

Her feet were propped up on the chair in front of her with her arm resting on top of the guitar on her lap, seated across from him. He tickled her foot, as it was near to him. She giggled and recoiled sharply, happily, but spoke in a stern voice,

"That's not sanitary!"

Ross rolled his eyes and went to wash his hands at the sink. She giggled again, amused to watch his obedience as he, gamely, set out to make their tea bread. He turned to her as he dried his hands.

"You know you sound like a witch!"

"What?!" Dem had no idea what Ross meant. Ross spoke as if he was scandalized.

"Cackling at me! Talking of 'bloodheat' and killing the yeast! You sound like a witch casting spells on people!"

Dem, not one to resist a fancy these days, started playing 'I Put A Spell On You' on her wedding present, a twelve string Gibson guitar with mother of pearl flowers on the fretboard. She smiled. She looked pretty with her hair about her shoulders and a light blue tee shirt on. She wore cut offs too. They only had themselves to please.

"Hurry!" she smiled. "We'll not have them for tea if you don't get started!" Ross gave her a sour look that made her giggle again.

"Make my splits and be quick about it!" No one would mistake the Hempel air of privilege in her voice as she chastised her servant. Ross smirked.

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am. I will try to..." here Ross took a sardonic pause and gave her a wonky looking curtsy before returning to the table. "...ma'am." Dem laughed again and Ross rolled his eyes. He thought, 'Dem and Prudie make these all the time, there's nothing to it...'

In theory, Ross was correct. Splits were an uncomplicated, yeasted roll to split in half and fill with jam and cream. Nampara was not a decadent place for all the gossip over them. They were often content with bought biscuits and homemade fruit buns for their tea. Every once and a while, though, they would have a bit of a gorge on a proper cream tea. Usually this was because Ross deployed his blinking eyes in the way that failed him spectacularly this day. Ross had certainly eaten enough splits to know what the end result should be. 'child's play...' he told himself. Once Ross realized Dem really was going to leave him to his own devices, he got to grips with things. Dem followed him with her eyes in merry humor as she watched him move about in the slow dance of a man who knew the place like the back of his hand but not as a baker at all. He found the ingredients and followed the recipe as if any deviation or false move would result in a chaotic gelignite explosion.

"This is the right flour?" he asked, holding aloft a bag of strong flour.

"Yes, Ross."

"What do they mean a 'pinch'? How much salt is a pinch?"

"Ross?" said Dem, quietly. He looked at her.

"Put your hand inside the salt pig," Ross pursed his lips and looked bashful as he did what he was told. Dem strummed some chords as she smiled.

"Take a pinch of salt." He did so.

"Ross?" Dem grinned with her eyes crinkled.

"Yes, Dem." sighed Ross.

"There's your pinch of salt!" And she played 'Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits' for good measure.

"I just want them to be right!" said Ross, a little defensive as he dropped the pinch of salt into the bowl and started to wield a wooden spoon to mix everything together.

"Fitty!" crowed Demelza, happy to be able to 'correct' him. Ross glowered at this and her laughter when he overshot the bowl as he mixed and got flour on his shorts. He stopped stirring, and stared her down across the table. His eyes were stern but a smile threatened as he said, tersely,

"I'm going to spank you!"

They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"Promise?" Asked Dem, blinking innocently.

"For certain sure..." smiled Ross as he resumed mixing the dough.

The dough was prepared. Dem hesitated to correct Ross. It looked too moist. She would not step in now once she had insisted he do it himself. Kneading became an unfortunate display. It clung to his fingers in raggy, wet clumps that mushed about the table. Ross noticed that Dem had stopped playing, watching the dough with her mouth bitten down.

"Go on," said Ross as he struggled with the dough, "You know you want to..." She smiled, kindly.

"More flour, keeps it from sticking..."

Ross, who was prideful, resisted asking for help, had to admit it really did not look like the smooth, springy dough Prudie and Dem could both make blindfolded.

"Dem?" She smiled over her twelve string.

"Yes, Ross?"

Ross was tempted to roll his eyes but he knew Dem would punish him by leaving him to his fate if he did.

"Will you please help me with this dough?"

Her smile widened and she set the guitar across the seats of two chairs.

"Yes, Ross."

She washed her hands and came to his side of the table. Gently, with the back edge of a butter knife, she scraped what dough she could off of Ross fingers and hands. "Wash your hands and then you can knead this. It just needs more flour to correct it." "Yes, M'lady." smiled Ross. There was thankful admiration rather than sarcasm in his voice. Ross watched, perplexed and amazed as Dem sprinkled over more flour and used the butter knife to scrape up the dough, sticky and clingy-making a mess of the table. She scraped it over itself, like a folded piece of paper and then, with floured hands, flopped the whole mass of it over in a coating of flour and began to knead it into a proper looking dough. "You weren't far off, Ross! It's quite good for a first try!" Ross could not help feeling an absurd sort of pride over this comment. Then he became bashful again, "It hasn't been baked yet..." Dem chuckled, smiled at Ross, warmly. "Come knead it. It's not difficult..." Ross did as he was told. Stilted at first, a bit timid, Ross soon gained confidence as Dem washed her hands and resumed playing her twelve string.

"Does it pass muster?' asked Ross. They both admired the smooth ball of dough on the table.

"I should say so! It can rise now." said Demelza.

Having given it a warm, loving home in the crockery bowl sprigged with flowers on one side (A bowl that Ross had seen from every angle of his height, as he grew. Tall enough to just peer over the table and see the painted flowers close up, to now as a grown adult who, proudly, had cause to use it himself) With great ceremony, Ross draped a damp tea towel over it. "Now what?" asked Ross. "We wait, they can't be made into rolls just yet..." Ross stood a little straighter as he watched Dem smirk at him. They looked at each other as she played John Dowland's Lachimae, a 17th century piece that vexed Dem for years. She played it now, eyes lit with mischief as she spared the briefest of looks to her fingering, even daring to smile into his eyes while playing it, faultless and in correct time-the pausing within the song had been a difficult challenge to her for years- as he grew ever more amused. Ross' mouth twisted with the humor of someone who knew he'd been bested. Standing in a halo of flour, his own hand prints on his tee shirt, sprayed across his shorts from flinging it on himself while stirring, smudged on his forehead and the forelock of his hair (though he'd not see that until he looked in a mirror) Dem was showing off and teasing him. She was as good a guitarist as he was but he struggled to bake their bread. A smile crept upon his face. One Dem could recognize.

"I. Am. Going. To. Spank. You." he said, slowly, evenly and with warmth in his voice. Ross laughed as Dem jutted her chin and sassed him back.

"I should hope so! The dough won't be ready for an hour..."

Dough risen, and Ross' promise kept, they returned to the kitchen. Dem cut the dough into twelve pieces. Ross watched carefully, tried to mimic Dem's technique, but his rolls were not as smooth as hers. He continued trying to make his six lumps of dough look like Dem's. "This is like Blue Peter!" groused Ross. Dem smiled and placed a perfectly shaped roll, smooth and rounded like a sea weathered pebble, on the palm of her hand. With the over bright cheerfulness of a children's television presenter she said, "Here's one I made earlier!" Ross found this so funny his laugh was silent. He bent double with the quiet, staccato hiccup of someone who might fall on the floor from laughing. With a great deal of mirth, they set their rolls to rise on the baking tray. Since they had to rise a second, shorter time, they walked with Garrick. They were content. Garrick ran ahead to chase rabbits and they walked, hand in hand, through the quiet, August afternoon.

Back in the kitchen, Dem applauded Ross' successful batch of splits. Ross placed the baking tray in the oven and resisted the neophyte temptation to keep opening the oven door to peek at them. They baked beautifully. "You made my splits!" smiled Dem. "Fitty splits!" countered Ross. "Ahh! But they haven't been tested yet!" Dem broke a piece of a split that she could tell from its eccentric appearance was one of Ross' and fed it, plain, to Garrick. Ross laughed as the dog snaffled it down happily. "Garrick has spoken! The splits be fitty!" He lifted his chin at his accomplishment.

Ross returned to his more ordinary chore-making the tea. This he could do blindfolded for he had been pressed into service by Prudie, as her second in command, years earlier. He measured out the tea for the smaller pot, having warmed it first with boiling water that was discarded. He brewed the tea with fresh boiled water. He turned, to bring it to the parlor and smiled. While he was making tea, Dem had laid the table with the silverware and china plate that was kept for best. Heavy, old silverware with a floral design on the handles and delicate blue and white floral plates, saucers and cups, a very old set from his mother's side. Two jars of jam, strawberry and raspberry, waited with spoons at the ready and a cut glass bowl of Prudie's clotted cream-bone white in some places, a shimmered, pale yellow crust in others-sparkled next to a colorful flowered plate that held his five remaining splits.

With great ceremony, they split and dressed their tea bread with jam and a generous dollop of cream. The test. Ross started laughing, a bemused laugh of triumph. They looked a bit ropy, but they tasted perfect. They smiled at each other. Ross had baked his own cream tea.

"They're perfect, Ross! Thank you!" said Dem.

"You're welcome." Ross couldn't help flushing under such praise. To mask it, he topped off her cup. Dem raised her cup in tribute, and took a satisfied sip. She set it down and smiled, warmly. "You know, Ross, I think you've brewed more tea for me than I've ever made for you..." Ross smiled as he topped off his own cup and looked proudly at the table, spread with a proper cream tea, for two, he had magicked with his own hands, with assistance, of course...

"Well," he smiled as he brought his cup to his lips." I have to do something to earn my keep around here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tea For Two, Frank Sinatra and Dinah Shore 1947
> 
> I Put A Spell On You, Screamin' Jay Hawkins 1957
> 
> gelignite: an explosive compound used in mining, for rock blasting, but developed later than Georgian times. The real Ross Poldark would not have used it.
> 
> John Dowland's Lachrimae: Ross and Dem may both be unaware of a second level of dominance in Dem's showing off. The song was composed in 1604. She is proving to Ross that she has mastered a difficult Elizabethan era song on his wedding present to her.
> 
> This is like Blue Peter: Begun in the 1950s and continuing to this day, Blue Peter is a BBC children's program known for "makes", demonstrating arts and crafts or food that children could do at home. Because of the time constraints of TV, they had a fully prepared version to show the viewer what the project was meant to look like when properly completed.

**Author's Note:**

> Why Don't We Do It In The Road?, The Beatles 1968
> 
> For this story, It HAD to be Ross and Dem playing Something to each other, but in real life, Something was not recorded until the summer of 1969 and released in the autumn of that year. These stories all hinge on Ross Poldark being 33 in 1975 and Hugh Armitage being 33 in 1978. Ross is ten years older than Demelza. For that to work with Ross being a Mod in the early 60s, The Beatles Hard Day's Night having been released in 1964, 1964 being the last year the English government took a lenient view of heroin registration and for Demelza, Jeremy and Clowance to be their correct The Four Swans ages by 1978, I have had to put Ross and Dem together in 1968. Even if it was 1969 in this story, Something would not have been released yet.
> 
> In this fic, a year has been cut off the original Winston Graham timeline. Demelza is 16 in 1968 and that is when it all kicks off. She is of legal age and has completed her education.  
Strangely, as the most unconventional "Hempel Girl", she has fulfilled what that sort of school intended for their alumna in the 1960s, she got married.
> 
> 33 and 1/3's Elizabeth owes more to the 1970s performance of Jill Townsend but no one can beat the Georgian shade of Heida Reed in the recent show. The cornflower/bluebell scene was not part of the 70s script and Ross and Elizabeth were more of a thing as that first series deviated from the books. Winston Graham put his foot down and refused to give his permission for the shows second season if they didn't follow his plot. The 70s Poldark, from that point became a fantastically accurate portrayal of the saga, but I do think their meddling in the first series made the Ross/Liz arc more compelling and gave Demelza much more reason to fear her rival.


End file.
